Feral
by Poorfox
Summary: The wolf consumed Link after the events in "Twilight Princess." When visitors come to the wasteland the wolf has taken as home, his spirit is restored. He returns to Hyrule, a man, but with something of the wolf left in him stronger than ever.
1. Prologue

**A/N: 'Feral' is set after the events in 'Twilight Princess,' but don't be put off by that if you haven't played the game; I've attempted to make it as easy to access as possible, without prior knowledge required. I've recently begun writing for this again, and it's coming along quite well - I hope. The first two or three chapters are fairly short, and need reworking, but I'm pushing on with others before rewriting earlier ones. Don't be put off by their brevity! It gets better once you're a little way in. ***hint* **Reviews are great motivation.**

**This first chunk is especially tiny as it's a prologue. Don't worry, it picks up a bit very quickly.**

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_A divine beast is still a beast. He is neither truly beast nor man, but closer to a god. Should the unseen lines in his heart flicker, the power of the gods will change his shape to what he believes is his true form. He holds the greatest power, but first must learn to control it, before it begins to control him._

_- Taken from 'Legacy of heroes', third book of the sage Rauru_

Stars dotted the sky above the Direm wastes. The moon hung in the sky, part-way through its endless journey across the heavens. A wind rose above the arid plains, winding its way past the hillocks sparsely decorated with a greying cousin of heather. Roe deer, a group of five, stood by the base of one, nibbling at the stalks of these hardy plants, the only vegetation to survive in such a barren land. For many miles the wind blew, carrying the sharp tang of heather to even the dull senses of a human, but to a wolf, another scent was ripe in the air. Deer. Prey. The hunt!

Two legs it stood on, yet it was a wolf. Its forelegs, arms, hung by its side. Higher, was its head. The eyes were the colour of blue, but the eyes of a wolf nonetheless. The wolf, no, it wasn't a wolf. It was a man. Any observer would be almost confused by this. It, he, was a man, and yet there was something that seemed distinctly wolfish about him. Here was a man that, at the fist glance, appeared to be a beast. Raising his head to the sky, he let out a long, mournful howl. Then all of a sudden, he was gone. Racing across the near-desert scrubland, he moved with both the speed and grace of a true wolf. Towards his prey.

Meat! Warm flesh, still dripping with the blood of a fresh kill. Nothing else could hold any sway over his thoughts. In what seemed like an instant, he was upon the deer. It was finished before the chase had even begun. Leaping onto the back of the nearest animal, sharp canine teeth sank into the furry hide of its neck. Not a quick death. A sharp twist of the head, coupled with powerful jaw muscles, ended that problem. The broken carcass fell to the ground, the only sound to break the all-consuming silence other than the fading beats of a dying heart. Twice the moon had risen since last he ate. The hunger rose from deep within him, like a demon crawling out of the depths of Hades to roar defiance against the world.

Sleeping, within a hollow at the base of the small hill, the beast-man was surrounded by an array of bones, small and large, each picked clean of meat. Tattered and bloodstained, a faded green tunic adorned his otherwise naked body. Against all the odds, his feet were covered by a pair of earthly brown boots. Pointed ears marked him as a pure blooded Hylian. Light brown, nearly blonde hair, surrounded his head. Unruly, but relatively clean, considering the circumstances. Watching this beast-man sleep, he seemed almost human. Almost, but not quite. On the surface of his left hand, three triangles shone with a golden light.

Very few existed who could scratch a living out of a place so desolate, but a single group of plainspeople called the wastes home. This tribe, known as the Dermines, lived in a small village on the warmer westward face of the plains. Not so much a village as a ragtag collection of deer-hide shelters, near invisible against the sandy earth they stood upon. From one of these shelters emerged a woman, well into her third decade, possibly even her fourth.

"Mother!" The voice was that of a child. Stopping, she looked back at the owner of the voice, her face an unusual blend of worry and frustration.

"Ah must fetch they herbs, Strae, othe'wise ye will no heal in time for winter. Ah cannae stay with ye. Get some rest now, ah'll no be back till dusk has fallen." She was worried about more than the rate of his healing. It was a wasting sickness, one of the worst she knew of. Having neither the knowledge of remedies to treat him, nor the guidance of one who did, she had sent a message through the hawks to Hyrule. The best doctors in the world, the merchants had told her when they passed through some years ago. If only he could survive till they arrived.

Before she had gone three steps, Strae called out again.

"What of the beast? It made another kill, they do say, deer, Matrim found the carcass. He did say it be larger than any of they wild dogs, and leaves strange tracks, nothing like anybody has seen before." The drawl of the plainspeoples desert ancestors was strong in the boy, despite his ten or so years of age. His mother frowned. Nobody had seen this creature, but subtle traces of its presence were everywhere, to one who knew how to read them.

"Its ne'er attacked one o' us and ah've no enough meat on mah bones teh make any beast hunger after me. Sleep now, keep up your strength." A smile, faint, but reassuring flickered on her face as she walked away. This beast was no trouble to her, not when the life of her son hung in the balance. That tended to put the rest of the world into perspective.

The wild hawks had an affinity of sorts with the Dermines, and would take the message swiftly and surely, even across so great a distance. For anyone to make such an arduous trek across the desert, and then partially across one of the next most inhospitable places ever known, that was a miracle. Miracles can come true, but only if you are still alive to see them.

A spear in one hand, and a restorative flask of her own concoction in her belt, she began the long walk across the plains to pick a plant only marginally less rare than the diseases it treated.

"Goddesses be with me," she murmured to herself. Reaching the plants was no easy task, let alone finding them.

oOoOoOo

**A/N: So it begins…I'm getting further and further along with this, so I hope there's enough interest for it to continue. Leave a review if you want more; I need to know that you want it before I can deliver the goods. ^_^**

Poorfox


	2. Across the Plains

A/N: Pleeeeeaaaasee review. Oh, and read this. And….oh, forget it, just read, review, and (hopefully) enjoy.

_Rage had welled up inside of him like a trickle of water leaking through a hole in the surface of a dam. There are two ways in which such a dam may be destroyed. Most common is the more spectacular occurrence. The structure will, under the immense pressure, literally burst, shattering into many pieces, causing an aftermath of destruction in the areas close to the dam. At the opposite end of this range of destruction, the small trickle will slowly erode the rest of the structure, until it collapses into unrecognizable and irreparable wreckage. Both of these are ways in which a man may lose his sanity. In this case, the latter has occurred. Slowly, he has fallen into madness. Should he fall too far, climbing out of the pit of his own madness would be nearly impossible._

'_A doctors report on the mental wellbeing of a patient.'_

A train of three wagons gradually made their way across the dunes, each emblazoned with the phoenix sigil of the royal family. They made an impressive sight, one that was only made greater by the armoured guards marching beside the caravan. Half a dozen soldiers, outfitted in the light armour of the palace guards made the honour guard for Magur Hedal, a physician of considerable renown. Both men and women formed the army of Hyrule, as the histories say it was over two centuries ago, before the country had abandoned its armed forces.

Since coming out of her prolonged seclusion, the Princess Zelda had put a great deal of time and money into remaking Hyrule in the image of the many prosperous ages long past. To combat the threat of bandits and monsters roaming the land, the Princess had decreed the reformation of the army of Hyrule or, to give it its true name, in the ancient tongue, Do Shaine Erriane, which translates literally as 'The Golden Shield ', or 'Shield of the Golden Ones'. The Golden Ones or the Shaine were both names given to the trio of goddesses worshipped by Hylians. Almost all Hylians worshipped the Shaine. This religion had no name. It wasn't truly a religion, but rather a common set of beliefs. Conflicts never arose between members of different religious groups, as heathens were an extreme rarity in Hyrule, meaning that a cause for aggression almost never came about.

"Ashei!" The rough bark of the guard sergeant cut through the dusty air, not unlike the howls that had permeated the silence of every night since they had set foot upon the plains of Direm.

"Hai, Sergeant?" The woman answered in a travel weary tone..

"Just checking you were still with us. You mountain folks fall to the sun fever long 'afore us city men." There was a hint of a sneer in his voice, though whether for the fair skinned mountainous people or Ashei herself, she could not tell. He certainly did have an inbred disdain for what he called 'country folk', or, indeed, all life outside the nation's capital city. Despite this, he was a lot friendlier and polite than the other four city louts that made up the honour guard. Although women were admitted to the army, very few chose that lifestyle, so Ashei was one of a very small group. She had been volunteered for this expedition after her involvement in a tavern brawl. Drunks never saw the armour of a soldier, or the spear resting against the wall, just another woman drinking alone.

She shifted uncomfortably under the relentless gaze of the sun. With that small movement, she woke from the stupor brought on by endless hours marching across low, sparsely vegetated hills, each identical to the last. Rising from the dry ground, less than a league away, were a cluster of tents pitched beside a small river.

"At last" she hissed under her breath. The driver of the last wagon, the one closest to her, turned to give her a sour look. He was one of those who believed women had no right to wear armour.

"Now we 'ave ter get all ther way back, after bringin' sum brat back ter life. Bloody fool idea, sending us out here." The glares he continued to throw at her showed who he placed the blame on for his own discomfort. Before she could have replied, he opened his mouth again and bellowed "Racha! Racha, you piece of filth, can't you control this girl? Come over here and deal with your own scum." At this, Racha, the guard sergeant, marched over carrying a disapproving frown. Without even bothering to ask what had happened, he ordered her to replace one of the other soldiers at the head of the train, marching almost a quarter mile closer to the Dermine village. The contempt in his voice was now as clear as the smug satisfaction in the wagon driver's leer.

Eventually, Ashei caught up with the leading caravan, only minutes before it entered the village. The trek out to this distant province of Hyrule had taken almost two months. It had been ordered by the Princess, however, in an attempt to bind these far off parts of Hyrule to her with more than lines on a map. She had received word of a Dermine boy, Skrae, the son of the village shaman. She had ordered Magur Hedal, an expert in exotic diseases to journey to the Direm wastes and do all he could to save the boy. The shaman had said, in her message, that she was collecting the rare herbs she knew were used in the treatment. After her expansive list, there was little that the doctor himself needed to bring. To make sure he reached his destination safely, the Princess had given him six guards. Ashei was one of them, Racha another. The other four were unlucky new recruits that had been pointed out by higher ranking soldiers. Although she herself was new to the army, she was an experienced fighter, having grown up in the mountains.

Her father had raised her almost like a son, teaching her the ways of battle and survival in the wilderness. Spending so much time virtually alone, she was always quiet among other people, and avoided spending large amounts of time with any single group of people. She had, despite her avoidance of socialising, become involved in a group calling themselves the Resistance. They attempted to fight a supposed threat that had taken control of the castle, and was slowly corrupting Hyrule. With the aid of a strange boy in the throes of adulthood from Ordon Village in the far south, in the Ordona province, they had succeeded. He was the most popular rumour at the moment. To listen to gossip in a tavern would bring a dozen tales of his heroics. Some claimed he was the ancient hero reborn, others that he was a rebel or a bandit turned hero. Others still, the ones who had seen his eyes, claimed he was a demon tamed by the Princess.

Despite the overbearing heat, Ashei shivered at the memory of those eyes. She had seen them before, on her father, the day he died. He had worshipped a semi-deity, the spirit of an Ice Jackal living on the snowy wastes beyond the mountains. All her life, she had learnt the customs of this obscure cult, called the Icaen. Now she alone followed the way of the Icaen. Knowing that sickness would take him, her father had called down the spirit of the Jackal God into his body. It was how all Icaen died, unless steel or poison stole their souls prematurely. For a time, they became one with the beast lying within them. For a time, they knew what it truly meant to live. It was how she was going to die. There was no escaping destiny. From that day, she remembered nothing but her father's eyes, the green-clothed hero's eyes, the eyes of a wild beast.

"Did ye see tha beast as ye crossed tha plains?" The excitable voice of a small child pulled her from her memories. "My brother saw it las' week. He said it looked like a man, but it acted like a beast! Shaman says he was once a man, but 'e changed. My brother thinks it's possessed by a demon! The men are goin' ta hunt it in tha night. Are ye a soldier, miss? Are ye goin' wi' them?" The child's voice, thickly accented as it was, was still recognizable enough to stir an icy chill deep within her.

'_Is it possible that it's him?'_ Ashei thought in horror. '_It can't be…I must go with these hunters. If he really was taken by a beast, then only Icaen can bring back the man.'_

A/N: That should keep you happy for a while, heh, I almost forgot to upload this. For those of you who don't remember, Ashei is the armoured girl, part of the resistance, who stands in the entrance to Snowpeak, near the Zora's domain. In this little tale, she has joined the army. Hyrule IS full of sexism. Sorry, but that's life. Seriously, how many of the castle guards have you seen that are women? None.


	3. A Hunted Hunter

_A/n: Okay! I confess! I stole a name! It makes me cry, the guilt on my hands, stained with the ink of a thief's pen! Maybe that's overdoing the whole remorse thing, so I'll try and make up for it with this (I hope)lovely chapter. See? They're slowly getting a tiny bit longer. I promise I'll make the next at least double the size! (and keep up a decent length). Enjoy my little...composition, there's a lot more on the way._

oOoOo

_Blessed of the Gods. _

_Wielder of the Goddesses sigil. _

_Hero reborn as shadow covers the land._

_Taken from 'A prophecy of Light', written by an unknown priest of Nayru_

Ashei stood in the dim light, watching the Dermine hunters gathering their weapons. Inferior to the Hylian craftsmanship of her own spear, they were still intimidating nay without their own weaponry. She walked through the cluster of tents, stopping to reach to the ground and pick up a leather waterskin, handing it to the youngest of the three men chosen to hunt the beast that had been terrorising the villages livestock. Her eyes met his as he accepted the waterskin, narrowing in a fierce glare, daring him to argue with her. Matrim, she had heard one of the others call him. Young, but he seemed to be respected as the foremost of the hunters.

"You are Matrim, yes?" she asked. Not waiting for a reply, she spoke again. "I will be joining your hunt" As a soldier of Hyrule, she had the authority to join them, regardless of their reluctance to allow another into their group, at least, in their eyes.

She gave no time for him to either accept her as a fourth hunter or refuse to allow her to participate, instead walking away from the hunters towards the wagon that had carried her few possessions from Hyrule.

"Wait!" The young man sounded impatient, but still warily respectful, despite his own dislike of outlanders. "What do be your name? We must know, if ye are to join us."

"Ashei" she answered in a flat tone, not bothering to turn back to face him. "We will leave soon, yes?" She needed to find this so called beast as soon as possible, before it was too late. It had been too late for her father, and he was trained in the ways of the Icaen. The beast had taken hold of his heart, as would this man's, if she did not act soon. Matrim nodded, satisfying her desire for haste.

A small wooden box, ornately carved with strange symbols lay wrapped inside a bundle of her clothes. Taking it into her hands, she tugged at the metal clasp until it gave way. Pushing back the lid, Ashei reached into the box and took out a small pendant in the shape of a Rucia etched with the Triforce symbol of the Goddesses. Rucia were rare flowers, found only in the mountains, and held many strange properties. Among the Icaen, they were a symbol of unity, or, to be more accurate, of two halves fitting together.

Tying the pendant onto a leather braid, she tucked into her belt pouch, after taking out the small feathers that had lain there previously, items of rarity she had collected over the course of the journey. They came from a species of desert bird thought to be extinct. An acquaintance of hers would pay Ashei a considerable sum of money in exchange for them. That is, if they survived the journey home. The feathers went into the wooden box, which was replaced in its protective layer of clothing.

Climbing out of the wagon, she informed Matrim "I am ready. We will leave now." He nodded in acknowledgment, and set off down the dirt track leading out of the village.

Some days ago, a child had stumbled upon a pond in the plains. They formed, on rare occasions, from the heavy rains that gave water to an otherwise dry land. Ashei was not certain how this one had survived so long under the sun's steady glare, but it was as good a place to begin their hunt as any.

As the four hunters neared the pool, one of the hunters, taller than the others, gave a gasp of surprise. Over a low rocky outcrop, a strangely hunched figure crouched among the heather. There was no mistaking it, they had found their beast.

'It is as I feared' Ashei thought 'I must act now.' The hunters seemed restless, looking at her expectantly, as if waiting for her. She realized that she had been asked a question. The hunter repeated himself.

"Do we kill it?" he asked Ashei. "You did say we were no to attack it till ye had seen the beast for yesel', cos ye thought it might be sumthin' else" That was true. She had told the hunters not to take any action without her approval. She had not told them why. She needed to know whether it was just a dumb animal, or if her worries had come true. Before she could answer, the third hunter spoke.

A sour looking individual, he walked with a hint of a limp, and had a long scar down one cheek. He was a skilled archer, but had a reputation for violence, and often dragged others into his unpleasantness.

"It do be a demon! Look at it! It does look like a man, but it be a beast! Tha Shaman tol' us abou' demons. We hav' ta kill 'em before they can harm us!" The others voiced their agreement, and ran towards the beast, yelling wordless warlike screams, and flourishing their weapons. The Sour looking one, and the taller hunter took out bows when the beast noticed their presence. Nocking an arrow to his bowstring, the scarred man let out a cry of "Monster!"

oOoOo

The twilight hit the undergrowth with feeble rays of yellow light. Although the light

was too poor for any man to see with clarity, to the eyes of a beast, every detail was as sharp as on a summer noon. Dusty soil, riddled with heather and highland grasses, plants of shades of purple and dark green, the beast could see it all. It saw the forlorn insects scurrying about their menial tasks, and the birds riding the currents of the air, high above its head. It saw the tiny droplets of dew forming on the underside of leaves. It saw the patch of silvery grey fur, nestled between stalks of heather.

The world shifted. For twelve inches around the hare, every detail became as clear as the water in a still pond. The rest of the beast's vision faded to a grey blur. Blood rushed through its veins. Its heart beat, the almost inaudible sound seemingly as loud as thunder filling the sky from horizon to horizon. It beat once. Twice. Again. Faster now, more blood shot to every muscle in its body. Uncoiling like a spring, with all the force that heralded the most fearsome of predators, the beast pounced.

Sensing the beast, the hare fled, pounding its legs against the ground in desperation, fore and hind alike. Fear flooded from it in a relentless stream. The arc of the beast's carnivorous spring passed over the partly nibbled vegetation, leading it to cast a shadow over the hare's panic stricken body. Gravity took its hold on the beast. Landing atop its prey, the beast pinned the hare to the ground with a powerful foreleg.

The beast released the hare, turning in surprise as a voice called out

"Monster!" That act of confusion saved its life. A cruel looking barbed arrow, fletched with brown and white feathers shot passed the point where its heart had been. Another short volley of arrows missed the beast's heart, all thrown off course by a strong wind that sprung up out of nowhere, only to fade as soon as it had risen. More arrows were nocked to bowstrings, this time to fly true. A cold intelligence, of sorts shone behind those icy beast's eyes. Knowing it cannot dodge arrows, it ran.

"Don't shoot him!" A woman's voice cries out. Both hearing and understanding this, the beast hesitates, unsure of how to respond. A moment later it has made its decision. It runs on, a moment too late. The iron tip of an arrow cut a deep furrow in the beast's lower leg, knocking it to the ground as it lost its balance. Lying on the ground, the beast's vision blurs. Its consciousness slowly dripped away from the beast, as surely as the red drops of blood leaking from the freshly made wound.

Almost unable to see anything now, the beast watches helplessly as three roughly human shapes converge around it. A fourth, shouting loudly and gesturing wildly runs up to them. The beast is unable to make out the words. As the shape comes closer, the beast sees that it is a woman, wearing armour.

Raising some kind of weapon above its head, one of the first three shapes brings its arms down with considerable force. A sharp pain blossoms in the back of the beasts head. Realizing that the beast is still conscious, the shape repeats the action. Despite the attempted intervention of the woman, the other two join in, kicking and beating the beast with their fists until several minutes had passed. As they stopped, the beast felt darkness overwhelm it. Embracing both the pain and the darkness, the beast fell away into the deep recesses of unconsciousness.

oOoOo

Bringing her arm round in a swift curve, Ashei slapped the sour individual who had fired the first arrows with all of her strength. From both shock and surprise, he fell backwards, landing heavily on the bloodied ground, net to the fallen beast.

"You are blind as well as stupid, yes?" She raged at the hunters, the sour man in particular. "Can you not see that this is a man, not a beast!" Kneeling beside the fallen man-beast, the rolled him over gently, and inspected his wounds. She sniffed once, and rounded on the guilty looking men once more "He's hurt! The least you can do is take him back to the village and find someone who can help him. There's a physician here now, thank Nayru, so he might survive this night. But if he does not, by the Goddesses, I will have your heads." One of the men, Matrim, she thought, but rage had clouded her mind enough that she could not tell the differences between the three opened his mouth, perhaps to defend himself, or perhaps to explain, but she ignored him as easily as she would an insect buzzing near her head.

The men picked up the fallen man, though they still found it difficult to think of it – of him as a man. As they walked, Ashei reached into her belt pouch and placed the cord of the pendant of his neck, the cool metal pressing into his chest. Matrim glanced at it, confused, but had the presence of mind to make not comment.

Ashei walked stiffly to one side, her arms swinging by her sides. Ten small crescents cut into her hands, as her tightly clenched fists drove her fingernails deep into the soft flesh. Despite the harshness of her success, and the manner in which it was achieved, she felt some satisfaction towards the recent events. Now, however, there was more to worry about. He had taken an incredibly harsh beating, one that not many could survive. Luckily, he was at what Ashei had heard called the peak of physical perfection. Healthier than a young bull, he stood a good chance of surviving those wounds. All Ashei could do was pray that he suffered no permanent damage, as severe blows to the head often caused.

oOoOo

The village shaman was the mother of the boy whose sickness had brought the doctor to the Dermines, so she owed a great debt to Hyrule. In particular, to the physician who had travelled such a distance, and, to a lesser extent, Ashei and the other five soldiers that made up his escort.

She had given up her tent to the injured young man, after Ashei explained the situation. Not in full, of course, as that would give birth to many more questions, about Ashei herself, and the source of her knowledge. She told the shaman that he had been possessed by a demon, and forced to behave like an animal. Given the circumstances, this was accepted by most of the plainspeople.

Only one opposed this. The sour faced individual who had delivered most of the blows, in addition to the only arrow that had hit its target claimed that he was a demon, and would cause no end of trouble for the Dermines.

"Ah say we should kill tha demon now!" He almost screamed, testing the limits of his lungs. "It did kill before now, what do be stopping it from killin' again!"

"He was possessed, Meraal" The shaman wearily repeated Ashei's words. "And it did no kill any of us. Only tha' animals."

"Only animals!" His rage was close to breaking point "how long afore it moves onter people! It do be a demon, shaman, and demons, they do kill." He stalked out of the spacious tent, followed by Matrim and the third hunter, along with a number of ordinary Dermines who had gathered to see the fabled beast, as the shaman shooed them out, berating them for making so much noise over a sickbed.

"What is your name, shaman?" Ashei asked, after the shaman handed her a small pitcher of water.

"Mah name? It do be Sainn, girl. Now tell me, how did you know of this man?" Ashei was slow in answering, and each word came reluctantly.

"You have a right to know, I suppose. I met this man a few times, before he…changed. I saw something in his eyes that was strange. It was as if he was almost a wild beast at times, then it would fade as soon as it had come, leaving just an ordinary young man behind. I say ordinary, but in truth, he was a hero." She spoke this last word scornfully, all too aware of what most people who were hailed as heroes really were. "Only a few people ever knew of his deeds, but anywhere you travel to within Hyrule, there will be those few people. Slowly people have begun to share stories of what he did for them , piecing together what is fast becoming his legend." Here she snorted openly in derision. "I have heard drunks arguing he is the ancient hero reborn, or that he is a famed warrior from a far off land. In truth, he's a goatherd who got involved with more than he could handle. Somehow he got out in one piece, and then this happens to him.. All I can say for sure about him is that no one knows more than a tiny part of his story. He has never once let slip a single piece of information about himself. I know nothing about him, and I know him better than almost anyone else. He was a goatherd, but then he lft his village and became a different person."

Riann was silent while Ashei spoke, but now had a question for her.

"A hero needs to accomplish great deeds, like save lives, or win a war. What happened to Hyrule that it needed a hero." Ashei was quiet now, eventually admitting that she didn't know what had happened.

"Everywhere you can go in Hyrule, he has done something that seems to fit into a bigger pattern. I can only see pieces, but I think that the whole pattern is something beyond our comprehension."

The two women talked for another few minutes, watching the man's laborious breathing. Ashei stood and excused herself, making her way outside the tent. At the entrance, she paused and turned back to Riann.

"His name is Link" She told her.

Riann began to wring water out of strips of cloth she had been soaking in water, to make bandages for the man – for Link. She carefully wrapped the strips around his leg, where the arrow's hole was slowly closing. Rubbing a herb poultice she had often used for minor cuts onto the wound, she covered it with the bandage, and began to apply other poultices to his lesser wounds, paying special care to the deep gashe on the side of his head, where unruly hair was coated with glistening blood.

Unnoticed by Riann, the petals of the metal flower slowly uncurled, pressing against his wounded chest. The triangular sign of the Goddesses glowed an icy blue, and Link slowly uncurled himself, in a manner not dissimilar to the flower. His limbs straightening a little, his fingernails receding in length, and the teeth inside his mouth losing some of their sharpness, he began to look human again. In an eerie resonance with the flower's triangles, the faded gold marks on the back of his hand came back into their full, vibrant gold colour. An unseen light seemed to illuminate the markings. The layers of his skin pushed back together, healing accelerated by some outside force. Layers of flesh and tissue melded together, as if they had never been seperate. The light faded. The three golden triangles remained on his hand, no longer oddly coloured skin, but raised shapes of actual gold, as if metal triangles had been somehow attached to his hand.

The glow was gone from his hand, but the triangles remained.

The triforce remained, as clear on his hand as they had been faded before. There was no mistaking him.

Blessed of the Gods.

Wielder of the Goddesses sigil.

Hero reborn as shadow covers the land.

A goatherd named Link

_oOoOo_

_A/n: Hehe, sorry I take so long in updating, but the lack of reviews makes me slow looks at the number of reviews and sighs You know what to do to make me work faster? Thats right!_


	4. Knifepetal Firelight

Canvas is not like other materials

_There are many tales of what are called weaponmasters, often legendary figures who have ridiculously overinflated reputations, from success in a few duels, or a tournament or two. Some, however, are naturally blessed. Said to come from the Goddess Farore, this skill is quite possibly the rarest of all. It consists, quite simply, of the ability to fight, with any weapon, to the highest possible degree of skill. These people often excel in one field, blademasters with swords, or axesmiths with their battleaxes, but a rare few are gifted in every field._

_Bladeworthy – A series of essays by the warrior-priests of Diore_

oOoOo

Canvas is not like other materials. It is thick, sturdy and yet also retains some degree of warmth. The hide of a plains deer, when treated correctly and left to the sun will share some properties with canvas. Used as the walls of a tent, it excels at providing both diurnal shade, a haven from the baleful sun, and nocturnal warmth, whilst all around the wind howls its mournful dirge. On such plains as these deer may be found, there are nomadic tribes, almost all of whom live in tents constructed from the deer's body. In the rarer, permanent tents, the bones are also used as thin yet durable supports. The temporary tents, in which the tribesmen and women live are similar, save for the facts that no supports are used save for a single supporting pillar in the centre and the deer hide is thinner, more prone to wear. More often than not, these pillars are not constructions, but rather living trees, of the stout sort that grow in even as arid conditions as the plains known to its inhabitants as the Direm Wastes.

No light penetrated the thick tent walls. The heat was stifling, almost unbearable. A prostrate figure lay upon a scattering of woven mats in the centre of the canvas air trap. Deep within the darkness, something stirred.

A soft, almost evanescent light emanated from the outlandish clothing that garbed the sleeper. Nestled between a fold of the faded cloth covering his chest, a small but intricate metal flower shone gently. Without warning, the light disappeared. Small moans and grunts began to sound, as low and guttural as those of a wild animal in pain. The sleeper jerked violently in his sleep as his shuddering gasps fled from his tortured throat.

There is no way of telling how long passed in that lightless realm. Only the small noises of agony separated one moment from the next. It could have been an hour later, or a day, but the light returned. No, it did not. A new light came, harsh and bright, filling the darkness with itself until nothing remained but unbearable heat and light. This light was not light as most know it, but rather an opposite of darkness, too bright and harsh to see with, a contrast to what had before filled the shadowed room. None could stand the presence of this light. True screams tore themselves loose from the sleeper's throat, forcing out into the light like knifes into a man's flesh.

Light and heat seared his flesh to the bone amid accompanying screams. His movements became more and more violent. This continued to worsen, his limbs lashing out into the thick air with ever more fury. Still more time passed, unaccountable by any, whether outside the tent or within. His eyes opened, his mouth opened wide for a final shriek of defiance at the overwhelming light. The icy blue of his eyes rolled back to reveal an opaque white as he loosed a last cry of rage.

In near perfect synch with his hoarse voice, the light faded away, taking with it the heat, the tent and all sensation. All was dark and cold to the now woken sleeper. Images, near dreamlike, flooded before his eyes. A single figure, trekking across a desert, the same figure, now hunched oddly, no longer with a man's gleam to its eye, a deer, seen through the eyes of a wolf. He gasped for breath, once, and then found he had been breathing. A voice, unheard for many months, spoke in his ear.

'_Link, link between good and evil, man and beast, link between light and darkness, bearer of both, weapon of neither, a link you are, and so Link you are named!'_

He knew that voice. Link knew that voice. It was his. This moment of recognition pulled him out from the darkness, out from the cold and shadow of the abyss and back into life.

The tent flooded back into view, still shielded from the sun's rays, yet his eyes picked out the distinct shape of the mats on the ground, a single plant growing from the hard packed earth, old, tarnished bottles of varying shapes and sizes.

'Link!' a somewhat familiar voice cried out. Still held in the trance of what he had been through, it took him several seconds to bring a name to match the voice.

'A-shei?' he murmured wearily. 'Why…you…' his voice faltered, broken from lack of use. He tried to begin again, but to no avail.

'Link, try to rest, you've been through a lot, but you're back now, you're safe' Ashei spoke softly, as a trainer would do to an animal they were attempting to soothe. He tried to speak, but the words cracked in his throat.

Picking up a small glass vial from the haphazard scattering of bottles lurking close to the tent wall, Ashei stared into its contents, as if trying to guess what it held. Warmed by her hand, the liquid inside the vial began to change. A soft, pink colour began to swirl through the contents, like a thin plume of smoke, spreading to fill the small bottle with a deep rose glow. Satisfied, Ashei curled her fingers around the miniscule stopper and pulled at it, a light pop sounding as the cork bung separated from the narrow glass opening. 'Link? Drink this.' He raised his head and sniffed at the aroma flooding out of the bottle.

_Red…Potion?_ His still-disoriented thoughts pulled together his memories and other-worldly experiences. The heightened sense of smell he had possessed as a wolf helped him to recognise the unique scent, and his mind provided the pathway of memory. Understanding the look of recognition on his face, Ashei smiled to herself.

_Everything…will be okay now, yeah._ _Remembering anything so soon, he should be able to become the man he used to be. I just wonder…what will remain of the wolf? Nobody can go through such an ordeal unchanged._

She placed the vial in Link's hand, watching carefully to see if he could remember how to even hold something. She remembered a time in the past, when a hand had wanted to be a paw, clenching, fingers curling inwards like claws, unable to move with the dexterity of a human. Painful memories hovered at the edge of her mind. Ashei shook her head, once, firmly, as if to shake them away.

Unsteady at first, but gradually becoming more sure of his actions, he raised a shaking arm and tipped the potion down his throat. As the mushroom elixir trickled down past his tongue, a burning sensation filled his body. For a split second, molten fire coursed through his veins as the potent restorative draught flooded his body. Link shuddered, once, then the flames were gone.

_Faugh_ he thought _battle medicine is efficient, but almost as bad as the wounds themselves_. The clarity of his thoughts were finally reasserting themselves.

A wave of weariness ran over his limbs, the speed of his healing having drained all his energy. Falling backwards into darkness once more, the last thing Link saw was Ashei leaning over him to pluck the empty vial from his fingers. His eyes closed. Ashei left him to his rest.

No dreamless sleep was this, Link's mind soared with memories that could not be real, memories of tooth and claw, predator and prey, wolf and warrior.

A fierce grin lit his sleeping face as his mind raced across the land he called home, the land of Hyrule. As wolf and man, he crossed the world, padding softly across icy tundra and stalking through the shadowy alleyways of a cityscape with the same feral grace.

This was no man, but a wolf. Whether walking on two legs or four, his eyes were the same. The wild blue eyes of a beast. Unconstrained, feral, not inhuman, but somehow more than human, his dream showed them to him, seen in the reflection of himself in ponds he remembered passing, or deep within the eyes of those who met his gaze.

From peaceful pacing across these landscapes, his dream changed. Instinct, not though, flooded his mind and body, snarling deep within his sleeping throat as memories of past fights seared their place into his recollection. Holding a blade in one hand, a shield in the other, he stood alone against the hordes of rabid monsters and demons massing against him. One by one, he slaughtered them like animals, the mightiest of creatures falling beneath the steel in his hand.

Again, memory shifted. This time, he was once more a wolf. Trapped in a dank, dismal dungeon, the beast within him now free, Link pawed at the chain keeping him trapped. Savagery flooded through him, he tore at it with his teeth, long, pointed canines designed for tearing flesh. He remembered sinking them into the backs of animals, monsters, and even people. The taste of warm blood in his mouth was a good memory. Coppery and hot, it smelled of a successful hunt, of a victorious warrior, and of ravenous hunger about to be satisfied.

Oh, how those senses assailed him! As a wolf, everything was different, his sight sharper, smell stronger, and the level of dexterity and agility he could reach as a wolf topped everything a human could do. Everythign a normal human could, that is. Unbeknownst to Link, his wolf-senses had slowly crept in on him, pervading his human form and mind, moulding him into what he needed to be in order to fulfil his destiny.

A final memory crept across his closed eyes before he fell into true sleep. The dark king stood before him, a vile reflection of power. Both man and beast, Link had fought him, and had been fought. Link shivered through his dream, not with terror, nor fear, but from the ineffable feeling of malice radiating from the black cloaked figure standing before him, standing above him, racing towards him, sword raised and teeth bared, man and beast, demon and king, the bane of all light. A snarl governed his features, both dreaming and real. Summoning all his strength, he overcame the despair at this terrible opponent, and remembered his victory over darkness.

The golden sigil on the back of his hand flared once, a single golden spark, then faded once more. Hours passed.

Dusk had almost fallen by the time he woke, his strength renewed. Link stood, feeling as alive as he had as a wolf, but still remembering his humanity. His bare feet trod the hard-packed dirt beneath them as he paced the tent. In the utter darkness of this tent, even his wolf-eyes could scarcely see. Luckily, his foot brushed against the soft fabric of cloth lying on the floor. Holding it close to his face, Link saw that it was a simple tunic, not unlike the ones he remembered wearing what seemed like an eternity ago, in the village of Ordon.

Dressing himself, Link almost struggled with the outlandish clothing. Straps of leather bound a simple cloth shirt together, forming an interwoven pattern across his back and sides, leaving his chest partially bare. Tightening the last of these straps across his left shoulder, Link felt for the first time the thin cord around his neck. Pulling it away from him until the cord snapped, he looked with idle curiosity at the object. A wilted flower, of some sort, it crumbled into dust at his touch. Seeing it was of no significance, he let the dust fall to the ground, and pushed aside the heavy tent flap that served as a door.

Looking about himself, Link saw no people, only an assortment of thick canvas tents and crude shelters, with the largest of which being the one he had just emerged from. The scent of roasting meat assaulted his nose, and noise and laughter intertwined in a cacophony of celebration. Following his nose, Link wandered towards a large campfire, around which the Dermine people and their Hylian guests congregated.

Nobody seemed to notice him, their jubilation undiminished by the stranger's presence in their midst. Although the noise level seemed not to drop, one man rose as he saw Link. Nudging those to either side of him, they exchanged angry mutters that went unseen by anyone else.

'Link! Aye, 'tis good ta see ye up an' about lad, come sit ye'sel' by tha fire and tak' some meat, ye'll need some food inside o' ye after sich a rough night'

Riann practically bounced up from her seat on a lopsided boulder by the fire, and took Link by the arm, dragging him into the midst of the Dermines. Of those who looked up from their ale and meat to see this, few took any notice.

Still in the garb of a hunter, Matrim sauntered over to the shaman and young man with the easy gait of a man who has had far too much to drink.

'Link? That do be yer name friend?' He greeted the pair. 'Aye, 'tis good ta see ye up an' about, ah did be afeared tha' Meraal had done ye a nasty wound. Say wha' ye like abou' him, he does be a damn fine shot wi' his bow' Link smiled, faintly.

'Just a scratch, thankfully. You have done me a great favour, both of you.' Link spoke to both the hunter and shaman. 'And you, too, Ashei, thank you' he added as she joined the trio. 'I do not understand what happened, but…' his words were cut off my Matrim's laughter.

'Lad, yer all better now, an' tha's wha counts. Come sit ye'sel' wi' me an' tak' a drink an' sum food'

'He is right Link, yes' Ashei thrust a wineskin into one of his hands, and a chunk of warm meat into the other. Venison, his nose told him.

For a time, the four ate, and Ashei filled Link in on the state of affairs in Hyrule. 'The princess, she is a fine ruler and no mistake, aye. The first thing she did was order the reorganisation and reformation of the Hylian army, starting with the city guard, and moving outwards. She even opened the post to women, so I was able to sign up, yeah' Link's brow furrowed in a little confusion.

'Just how long was I….absent…for?' He sighed softly, remembering wistfully the beauty of Zelda, princess of a doomed realm. Ashei looked away.

'Almost five years have passed since last I saw you, during our assault on the castle.'

Link grimaced, and tore off a large piece of venison, chewing it slowly to avoid conversation. Finally, he spoke again.

'Hyrule…is she well?' It had long been a tradition to speak of the land of Hyrule as a woman, a custom taken, some thought, from the fact that the faith in that land was sourced in the three goddesses; Din, Nayru, and Farore.

_Farore has long been my Goddess, she will not have abandoned my home_. Link's eyes widen in mild surprise, he couldn't see where such a thought would have come from. Feeling abashed at a moment of what many would consider akin to sacrilege, he picked strings of flesh from his food, before throwing the remainder of his meal to one of the wildcats lurking in the shadows, darting into the firelight from time to time, stealing scraps of food. He felt a strange affinity for the wildcat, living on the edge of people, but not quite with them. Ashei interrupted his thoughts.

'You should come home, Link, yeah. Hyrule is at peace again, and people are thriving within her lands. The towns are expanding, and old trade routes are opening again. The settlements outside the Castle Town have re-established their links with Hyrule. Our land is whole again.'

_Ironic, _Riann mused _this young man, he do be whole again, and his land do be whole again. Perhaps he will do well to go home, aye._

'Link!' The shaman got to her feet. 'Ye can go home soon, but ye'll stay wi' us until ye get back on yer feet prop'ly.'

Overhearing this, a man lurking outside the ring of firelight strode forward, rage clear on his face.

'Meraal will not stand fer this, shaman or no, Sainn!' She raised an arm, and slapped him on both cheeks, her bracelets chiming softly amidst the resounding echo of the slap.

'Ye will address me as Riann, boy, and ye will do well ta' be polite ta' Link, he do be our guest.'

'Kiel, enough.' Meraal's voice cut through the hushed bemusement of the other Dermines watching, and the drunken laughter of the soldiers off to one side, finding the sight of an old woman striking the burly hunter hilarious. Addressing Riann, the scorn in his voice was apparent. 'We can no challenge ye on this, Riann, but me an' mah men will no live wi' this beast among us. We do be going ta' Hyrule wi' these soldiers, ta' join tha' ranks.'

Ashei sighed. _Great, more wooden-headed muscles parading around in armour. I suppose I'd better warn them_. She spoke softly, to Riann alone 'Link is returning with us, perhaps you should warn these fools. The goddesses alone know, it may discourage them from their folly, yeah?'

The shaman stared into the flickering firelight, seeming to ignore the small crowd around her.

'So do it be Meraal. Go ta' Hyrule wi' these soldiers, an' take yer friends wi' ye if ye must.' Turning to the soldiers, she said 'the Dermines, we will bring ye supplies fer yer journey, it do be a long one. 'Twill tak' us three days ta' get ye all ye need together, ye can leave on the morn' o' the fourth day, and tak' these fools wi' ye.'

Meraal nodded his assent, frowning when she added 'an' ye'd best get over this dislike o' Link ye've got, lad. Ye'll be spending a lot o' time in his company, he's goin' home wi' ye.'

oOoOo

Two days passed without further incident. Link scarcely spoke, avoiding the Dermines and Hylians alike whenever possible, even Ashei. He would spend hours gazing out over the plains, feeling the urge to throw himself into the hunt once again.

_Patience and restlessness are odd virtues to be combined, yet I feel both now, gnawing at me like a rat. I feel like a tightly coiled spring, waiting to loose my pent up energy._ His hand slipped down the side of the leather hunter's jerkin he was wearing, the tip of a finger stroking the hilt of a flint knife dangling by his side, the kind that the Dermines gave to their children. Not knowing it was a jest, Link had accepted the gift when presented to him by Matrim, after he asked for a weapon.

_I feel almost naked without a sword. Odd, isn't it, that I feel so strange without one even though I carried it for so short a time. The weight on my hip felt so real, so natural…prey!_

His thoughts snapped to the present. Roughly a hundred yards away, a rabbit lurked in the shade of a scrawny outcrop of plains-heather, the movement drawing his sharp wolf-eyes to it. No conscious thoughts went through his mind, he acted on pure instinct. Digging his nail into the leather hilt, he found the leverage he needed to flick the knife out from its sheath, without moving his hand. The knife shot into the air, level with his face, and spun, once, before beginning to fall. Leaning back, Link put all of his weight onto one hand, lifted his body off the ground, and lashed out with his left leg, the limb snaking out in a blur of quick movement, kicking the knife hilt, and sending it flying in the direction of the rabbit. A soft thunk sounded as the blade landed.

A small number of Dermine youths were idling their time away nearby, jumping to their feet with cries of excitement. One of them, a boy barely older than thirteen, ran over to the outcrop. The others crowded around him when he returned to them, a prize in his arms, then, as one, they surged towards Link, cheering and applauding his skill.

The youth held up a limp mass of fur and sinew, a scrawny specimen, but hardy, surviving in so harsh a climate. Protruding from one eye, the flint knife stood out, piercing the pupil dead-centre. A thin trickle of blood crept down from the eye, but the slit was so narrow, so precise, that very little actual blood escaped. The blade penetrated the eye deep into the rabbit's skull, killing it instantly and accurately.

'How do you be able ta' do tha'?' he demanded of Link, awe dominating his voice. 'No even tha' best o' our hunters can do tha'!'

'I'm no hunter' Link smiled 'Go bring some dry twigs, kid, you look hungry. We may as well eat this little guy since he decided to drop in on us.'

The youths dispersed, picking up little twigs that had fallen from the few sparse trees that lay around the camp, the wood dry and bleached from exposure to the sun, gossiping about the stranger's unusual skill with a knife, and speculating about what he could do with a real weapon.

After hearing this tale second hand from one of them, Matrim decided that he should bring Link along on one of the hunts that evening. _I do be sure tha' kids are exaggerating a hundred times over, but it'll do Link sum good ta' get tha' exercise o' a hunt, sitting aroun' all day is no tha' best way ta' heal, no matter wha' Riann says, an' tha' lad is as healthy as any I've seen._

oOoOo

_Some people are born to live beneath the stars, and can survive as such, living off the land alone. Others are naturally born townsfolk, or farmers. Perhaps this is a small scale version of the destiny planned for us mortals by higher powers_

_Pathways of Destiny - Quotations from the teachings of Ji'Namere, High Priest of Nayin_


	5. Cliffside Prey

_Hunters, hunted. Predators, prey. They are all part of the intricate cycle of life. It is the way of life that all creatures have their place. Some eat from the plants and the grasses, and are eaten in turn. Others carve out their path among the annals of history with tooth and claw, shaping for themselves their meals. While one feeds, another dies. As one thing grows, so must another shrink._

_From the Field and Fang Scrolls, found in the possession of a farmer. Author unknown._

Cracked white bones lay abandoned in the ashes of a small fire, dropped to the ground with only a few scraps of meat still clinging to them as vivaciously as they had in life. A toughened animal hide boot fell onto them, snapping bleached ivory with the sharp crackle of dry twigs underfoot. Matrim twisted his foot, grinding the remains of the blaze into the dry earth, thumping the butt of a long-handled spear onto hard-packed dust and rock. Link looked up at the noise, and pushed wayward strands of hair away from cerulean eyes with the fine comb of slender, long-boned fingers more suited to a woman than a warrior – yet toughened and calloused by the demands of bestial life.

"The young ones, they do be full o' praise for tha' mighty hunter." Link blinked warily, then a slow grin tugged at the lines on his cheeks. Mirth rolled out of him as he recalled the eager, excitable looks on their faces as they had clustered around him, pleading for more demonstrations of rare skill with an idly tossed blade.

"A fearsome foe, that rabbit. I almost lost an eye."

"Aye, mayhaps ye should try your hand at an easier craft. I do ha' a shirt tha' do be in sore need o' a needle's touch." His laughter joined Link's, redoubling it, and washing it over with a sonorous chuckle as Link bared teeth in a slightly confused snarl. "No? I did no think ye did be so easy ta get rid o' as tha'. We do be filling our cookpots and meat tents again this eve, when tha' sun do be lower in the sky. You do be welcome ta join us."

"An intriguing offer, Matrim. I accept." Bared teeth – fangs – changed somehow, almost imperceptibly, from threat to thrill, snarl to smile. A light shone in Link's eyes – the glow of feral lust for the sheer audacity to revel in the joy of the hunt. Matrim raised the wooden haft of his spear, and gestured broadly about himself with the point.

"A spear do be simpler than even tha' knife ye like to throw about. Ye simply wave it about like a moonstruck fool and hop tha' something do run into it by mistake. If you do go find ye sel' a stick o' yer own I may be showing ye how not to stab ye sel' in tha' foot." A dark gleam seemed to spring to life behind the wild polished gemstones of eyes glowing imperceptibly in the sunlight. A hint of unease shuddered through Matrim; something he had not felt in a very long time. Something about this man seemed to be somehow different. He shrugged it off, and stabbed the leaf-bladed spear point back towards the cluster of tents, motioning with his free hand for Link to go in the direction he indicated.

The day passed without incident, the sun trawling through its cycle doggedly. The light grew dimmer towards the evening, as if the luminescent orb in the heavens had grown weary from the daily toil, and was slinking into the tired state between sleep and waking, where nothing is ever done save half-heartedly. Beneath the weary sun, the hunters revelled. It was twilight; the time when deer grew idle and the predators of the night had not yet left their dens - the time to hunt.

"Link!" Resounding cries filled the camp, all stemming from the throats of the plainsmen dressed in the traditional hunting garb of tan leather, the same colour as the dusty earth on which their prey would be found grazing. Matrim's voice was the most vociferous, sounding loud above all others. Link had not returned to him after being sent to find a spear, and he was worried.

"Matrim?" He stumbled suddenly, on a root that wasn't there, and cursed under his breath.

"Din' see ye fer a momen' there Link. Can ye move as hushed as tha' out on the hunt now?" Link nodded, bangs of wild hair flopping into his eyes. He made no move to brush them away, but chose instead to squint through the finely coloured strands. Matrim looked at him curiously for a moment – he didn't seem to realize why he couldn't see – until the gentle breeze rolling perpetually around the tents whipped them away. Sainn had told him that there might be unusual side effects of the craft used to bring him out of his unusual state. It had been a strange conversation, and one which left him with more questions than it answered. He had approached her wondering just what exactly Link was, and what he should do about Meraal. The answer to his final question was simple, and he already knew the answer. He had just wanted clarification. As for Link, even the shaman had not known the real answers that Matrim craved. She told him of the strange rites used to bring Link back, to steal his hidden soul from behind the shadow of his inner beast. She told him of the way in which the female warrior had brought forth her charms and pendants, and the Hylian doctor his potions, made from Sainn's own herbs. She told him, too, of the fact that she had not understood the slightest bit of the ceremony, save that it brought back a lost spirit. That, more than anything else, chilled him to the marrow. Her tent had a plush interior, warm in the heat of day and the chill of night, but he had shivered, even so. It had been midday.

For all his life, Sainn had been the fount of wisdom, and knowledge, for the Dermine people. Something that she did not know was something far beyond the reach of his people. A warning from deep within seemed to pulse at her words, telling him over and over again that this man, this Link, was different. The others sensed it, but many disregarded it as an aspect of his Hylian nature, especially the young children. Others, like Meraal, reacted in distaste and fear.

"Shall we hunt?" Link's voice was quiet, complacent, and held a budding undertone of a rare enthusiasm. Other hunters raised their spears and let loose cries of agreement, shaking Matrim from his grim reverie. He ran a coarse hand pitted with a number of the pale marks left from wood splinters over the haft of his spear. A thick-jointed thumb touched the base of the metal point, and his mood lifted to join the others.

"Let us hunt!"

The hunters moved in silence, with an expert precision. Unlike the Hylian guards, who were trained to march in unison, each plainsman moved alone, with the stealthy grace and agility of a wild cat. No footfall was the same as another man's, and no step crossed the same ground. Only a few tiny noises were ever made, and their disorganized passage across the plains made sure that none of the animals who heard could ever mistake them for what they were – predators.

oOoOoOo

Ashei watched them go, nodding to herself. It was good for Link to be out on the hunt, for more reasons than either Sainn or the doctor could know. Magur Hedal was not a foolish man, but his knowledge was of blood and bone, not the ancient lore of arcane magic. He had been the one to suggest that Link join the hunters, muttering in Sainn's ear when he caught a spare moment. It would be good for Link, he had said, to remember what it is to be a man among men, and spend some time that he may even gain a little satisfaction from. Link would gain no mere satisfaction from the hunt, Ashei knew. He was still a beast.

The beast craved the hunt; lusted after the chase and the thrill of pursuit. Adrenaline rushing through sinew and breath torn hungrily as he ran, the beast would fulfil the need to sate its hunger for prey this evening.

"Magur Hedal. Royal physician of the third rank. And you, miss?" Ashei wheeled about sharply, having not noticed the doctor's approach. "Your name?" She had been staring at him with a dumbfounded expression, and her cheeks tinged with pink in embarrassment.

"Ashei."

"We didn't get much opportunity to talk on the journey here, even though it took quite some time. That lout, Racha, seemed quite intent on keeping us apart." She could certainly see why. The doctor was good-looking, in a way, with a boyish smile and slender reading glasses of square-cut crystal. Racha was far from infatuated with Ashei, but he had made a number of unseemly advances. Apparently her uniform was not as important as what lay beneath it.

"Racha has many qualities. Tact is not one of them."

"I did notice that he's quite good at holding a shield at exactly the same angle for hours on end. You have to admire the determination and single-mindedness of purpose that he has." She smiled at that. The doctor had a sense of humour, it seemed. She found herself warming to him, and the blush of startlement faded from her cheeks.

"A single mind is one too many for him, I fear." A particularly dubious occasion came to mind, where she had actually had to upturn her mug of ale upon the man's thick-skulled head to wash away his lewd suggestions. A pity – it had been among the last of the good ale brought with the caravan.

"Perhaps you're right. Still, there is no reason why our guards should be bumbling imbeciles. The Princess seems to have noticed that at long last." Zelda was a changed woman, after the recent events. Ashei knew only a little of what had happened, but understood that even if the same monarch held the throne, the minor rebellion in which she had participated had been a success. Things were changing in Hyrule, and for the better. Link's part in all this was surprising; she hadn't thought the wayward traveller to be any more than a travelling swordsman with wild eyes, but he had turned out to be at the core of events in a way that she could not even begin to imagine. She longed for the answers, but didn't dare to ask, for fear of a rebuttal against intrusion into his private affairs. Or worse, he could ask what she had been doing with the revolutionaries.

"Do Shaine Erriane is a grand title for so salubrious an army as Hyrule's guards. The Golden Shields are nothing more than polished brass these days. Without the polish, yeah?" She snorted in derision. Never a fan of labelling things with words in ancient Hylian to give them a more impressive sound, she had reasoned out long ago that the things with grander names tended towards the modest, and those with humbles titles were often impressive in themselves. Castle Town had a very simple name, and yet it was the capital of the entire nation of Hyrule.

"Still, with a bit of effort it seems to be shining up a little. I hear that there is a large influx of soldiers to be trained?" That was an understatement, to say the least. For some reason, the Princess had opened a floodgate, and now the realm of Hyrule was overflowing with young men eager to prove themselves on the field of battle – or to impress a pretty girl with a soldier's tabard.

"Aye. The city guards are too inept and little more than night watchmen. The goddesses know, they can't even do that properly. Princess Zelda is calling in men from the boundary garrisons to do the training. Real soldiers. They'll have arrived by the time we return, yeah? It'll finally get started."

"Well, good luck with your profession of choice. An unusual one for a woman such as yourself though. I'm curious as to what led you into it, but perhaps that is a tale for another time. Ashei was very irritable when it came to the fact that she had been born a weak female, not the son her father had wanted. She was masculine in spirit, having strived for so long to make her father proud. Eventually that had become part of who she was, and she would not change it for the world. Some days, it seemed like the whole world wanted her to. A woman in mail and toting a blade was a source of constant jibes and petulant remarks. She fared a little better than tavern maids who had to be nimble on their feet to evade the hands of grubby drunkards each night, but not by much. Hyrule's soldiers were not the terrorizing rapists and lecherous hounds that mothers feared when their daughters brought one home, but in recent years the ranks of the guard had been thinned out, leaving only the older men in the capital, those who had long since lost their sense of morals, along with their sense of duty.

"I think you're right. Before you go, how fares your patient?" Her tone was short, and almost sharp. She made his dismissal clear. His face fell, lines appearing at the edges of his mouth in disappointment. He had been enjoying their conversation – it was a rare pleasure to spend time in the company of Racha.

"Sleeping. He'll be fine." The Dermines have a fine constitution, and are in surprisingly good health given their diet. Have you any idea how thoroughly the consumption of so much wild venison can destroy a person's insides, even if they lead very active lifestyles? Why, I remember when I was still studying under one of the previous generation's finest medics." The medic in question was actually Racha's grandfather. The old man had been fond of his grandson, naming him as a spirited child, if a little stubborn, and sent him with Magur Hedal, much to the ire of his former student. Racha was an amiable person, at times, and Hedal did not completely despise him, but he was something of a boor, and Hedal found it irritating to spend a large amount of time with him. "There was a young noblewoman who had developed a rather unusual taste for deer meat, and..."

In an attempt to recover from Ashei's snapped words, Hedal had begun rambling, almost incoherently. Riann decided to intervene, seeing Ashei's fidgeting discomfort and slight guilt at her harsh tone.

"Girl. Your pendant. It did be left on the ground 'neath mah tent. Ah trust tha' he's no be puttin' himself back to tha' spirit realm by leavin' it unworn aftah all you done for him?" She had almost forgotten about the emblem of a Rucia flower until she had trodden on the uncurled leaves. It was a dainty thing, and she was lucky not to have broken it the delicate sheaf of metal.

Ashei nodded to Sainn. "I'm sorry to leave so soon as this, yeah? It was a pleasure speaking to you, doctor Magur."

"Please, call me Hedal."

"Doctor Hedal."

"Ahh, no, I..." A ghost of a smile on Ashei's face gave away her jest, and it was his turn to blush. She was soon gone, ducked back into Sainn's tent, leaving only his stutter behind. She hadn't expected his cheeks to tinge with such a rosy colour. It was rare to find a man who still blushed at his age. The mischievous glint in her eyes said that it could make the return journey fun.

oOoOoOo

Heather was the thickest scent on the wind. Whipping about in a rising crescendo, it was no longer a simple breeze. Rustling plants was enough sound to cover the noise of swifter movements, and to make other noises even more terrifying for the deer. Smeared prints on the bare earth had led the pack of hunters to a low hollow in the rolling plains. A small hill overlooked the dip in the land, one side veering downwards in steep precision – a cliff-face, and one half of a canyon.

Red-brown fur covered the back of the nearest animal. A young buck, pale white smudges were dotted around its hindquarters, marring the steady flow of colour over the herd of deer. Most were of fairly matched colouring, save for their paler underbellies. Matrim signalled to the hunters lurking only feet away, on the other side of the buck, and they leapt as one, spears brandished wildly, and knives in hand.

The purpose of the spears was not to kill – not this time. They didn't want the stragglers of the herd; scrawny, or young, or does about to give birth. They were after the patriarchs of the roe deer. Noble beasts, they were the largest, and their death brought the most glory to the hunters, not to mention a longer feast afterwards, with louder carousing, and bonfires burning brighter. The women of the tribe, too, would remember whose spear it was that brought down the mighty leader of the deer this night. It was a rite of passage in some ways, and a tradition in others, but only one thing was certain. The hunt was what these men lived for. Each and every one of them.

They let loose wordless cries as they leapt, startling the buck. It fled through the bulk of the herd. Matrim laughed aloud with the sheer thrill of seeing all the other animals raise their heads, catching the heady scent of fear in the air, and following the sharp tang it left searing in their nostrils. Funnelling outwards from the centre, led by the panic-stricken buck, the deer were driven towards the steep-sided hill with the skill borne from generations of practice. Shepherded onwards, ever-onwards, they ran, beating the ground with aching sinews in their legs. It seemed to shake under the stampeding mass of terror-filled beasts.

A corridor of spears was formed, pressing the animals in narrow file against the cliff-wall. The idea was to wait for the prize to pass through, and to take the deer to the ground with flung spears as it passed the hunters most skilled at thrown weaponry. The buck marked by Matrim as the choice specimen rushed into the corridor, forcing aside a lesser animal to make way. A hunter, Meraal, pulled his arm back to cast the spear.

Link had stood on the cliff-top, patiently watching the hunters sneak up behind the young deer at the edge of the herd. He had heard their plan, and agreed to it. It was well-thought out, and practiced, and it would work. He knew all that. As his prey passed under him, however, and the scent filled him, something inside him changed. Blue eyes flared, and his legs tensed into a slight crouch. The wind tugged at his tunic, the fabric pulled in every direction at once, and the sound of the breeze filling his ears, seeming to be deafeningly loud, as if he stood on a cliff overlooking an ocean, rather than arid grassland. His arms spread wide, to give him balance, and he leapt off the cliff. Noises of surprise came from the throats of the hunters, some near to amazement. Link landed on the buck's back, riding it as a man would a horse. A terrified, running horse – the kind which does not take kindly to riders.

Instinct took over him in the battle for control. With powerful thigh muscles he squeezed the deer, pushing all his strength into it. Unwilling to let the intruder steal his kill, Meraal let the spear fly, regardless of the danger to Link. With eyes focused in entirely the opposite direction, straight ahead, and shining with the adrenaline racing through his body, Link thrust an arm into the air, and caught the wooden spear haft mid-flight. Grunts of pain strove their way past the laboured breathing and ragged gasps the deer was already making, desperately seeking more air to fuel its flight. Link redoubled his efforts, and something snapped beneath him. The hard flesh of muscle shifted, the deer's noises of pain growing. A rib-bone, Link assumed. With a twist of his legs that seemed natural, Link somehow pushed the deer to one side. Pressure placed entirely on the injured rib, it fell to the ground, landing on the uninjured flesh.

Any ordinary hunter would have had his leg trapped beneath the animal after such a stunt, but Link had leapt over the deer, and stood on top of it when it came to rest. Spear held in both hands, he pushed it firmly downwards. The leaf-blade was pointing upwards, reflecting the last few rays of the dying sunlight. Round and wooden, the butt of the spear was thrust through the beast's neck, killing it. The hunters were quiet for a heartbeat, unsure of what had happened. Dust settled around the corpse, thrown into the air by the impact, and jubilant cries rose to a volume that made Link's head ring – from every throat but Meraal's.

oOoOoOo

Fires blazed through the night in celebration, velvet darkness held at bay, and stars outshone by the radiance of burning wood. Sizzling meat could be smelt all through the Dermine tents, and raucous told just how much the Hylian guards were enjoying the free-flowing liquor of the plainspeople.

"Eat!" An earthenware bowl containing strips of a dark meat was placed in front of Link. "You brought down the animal, so it is only right that you should eat from it." He took a strip from the bowl, tasting it, and savouring the odd texture.

"Riann, what is this meat? It tastes...odd. Not unpleasant, but there is a difference about it."

"Sainn! Ye do be to call me Sainn, Link." Her names had confused Ashei, too, at first. Two different names, held by the same woman, seemed to be an odd custom. The plainspeople referred to her by both, at different times. She had guessed that the name of Sainn was used by those more familiar with the shaman, but was still not entirely sure, having seen many use both names. Link shrugged, dismissing the concept of names as one unimportant. He knew who she was, and she knew that he was speaking to her, and that was what mattered – to him. "It be from tha heart o' the animal, to bring ye the strength o' its spirit, an' the wisdom o' nature's ways."

He stopped eating, a flicker of worry crossing his face.

"Will this...the spirit...?"

"No, nothin' like wha' happened to ye before, whatever tha' did be. I do no suppose ye know?" She was intrigued by the nature of Link's possession – if it was a possession – having heard nothing but wild tales and rumours on the subject, usually coupled with wild stories of demonic spellcasters, or ill-fated witches.

"Yes. I know."

"Possessed, ye did be, mayhaps?" Link nodded, slowly. It was as close to an explanation as any he could give to anyone. Nobody could ever understand what had happened – never truly understand, save one, and she had left this world behind five years ago.

"You could say that." He laughed; a grim chuckle with an odd twist in his voice that rose Sainn's curiosity further. "Yes, you could say that."

Ashei interjected, from sitting on Link's other side, closer to the fire. She, too was curious, and felt a cold chill in her chest. If Link had been taken by the same spirit as her father – not just in the same way – the old ways of the Icaen may need to see more life than wearing a dusty trinket kept as an heirloom.

"By what manner of creature or wraith were you possessed? There are many out there, and some more dangerous than others, yeah? Of all the beings meaning harm to our life, not all are demons or vengeful spirits. Some are...different."

"Myself. By myself."

Further questions were interrupted by a hunter's approach. The festivities had not touched this man's grimace, and loathing was clear from the set of his jaw and the white-knuckled grip he held on his spear. Flecks of matted blood still clung to the haft of the spear, drawn too deeply into the resin of the wood for any amount of scrubbing to bring them loose.

"Ye did steal my kill." Link recognized him as the one who had caused trouble at the last meal they had both been present at, Meraal. He tried to be as courteous as possible, not wishing to cause dissent while a guest at the table – or firepit – of another.

"Forgive me. I did not mean to take your honour. Please, share the heart-meat with me. It was your spear that took the buck's life, after all, no matter that it was my hand which wielded it."

With the hand not holding his spear, Meraal knocked the bowl to the ground spilling the stringy meat. Link didn't know it, but that was a grave insult not only to Link, but to the spirit of the animal. Sainn closed her eyes, rubbing at the eyelids as if to wake herself from a dream. She could ill afford this manner of bad luck at the best of times, let alone with a son weak as a kitten from the grip of sickness.

"Tha' do be all yer honour be worth, Hylian." Meraal did not share his sentiment. He spat upon the ground, and shattered the bowl with his foot, striding away before Link had a chance to reply.

Ashei had only one suggestion that could work, at a time like this. This was a diplomatic assignment to bring the borders of Hyrule back from inked out markings, and alienating the populace would do no good.

"Perhaps we had best leave in the morning. There is no need to stay longer, now that Strae's illness had abated."

"Mayhaps ye do ha' the right o' it, girl. The men will bring ye all the supplies ye will need to return to the land o' Hyrule. Give the thanks o' the Dermine people for all tha' she did do for us to the Princess. An' give her my blessin' as ruler o' Hyrule. It do be a fine thing to see a throne held by someone who deserves it at las'."

Link didn't know how to feel about returning home. His memories of the past five years were vague, but he knew that there was a lot left behind – he could remember that. He hoped that Epona had coped. He had left her behind on a venture into the desert, and never returned. There were too many people he had left behind, too. Not all of them were as easy to reconcile as a horse. One of them was even royalty.

_Fate entwines two souls as easily as a child may tie together two blades of grass. Fate is adept at breaking the grass as it binds them tighter. When two brought together by destiny come together for reasons beyond the ministrations of fate's desire, anything is possible._

_Taken from 'Legacy of heroes', third book of the sage Rauru_


	6. In the City

_The beginning of summer is celebrated by the festival of time. Time flows like a river, and burns like a flame. It is full of the light of life, and can flood the mind in a raging torrent or trickle by like grains of sand escaping closed fingers. The little joys of life can be lost through even the most tightly clasped fingers, and the festival of time seeks to remind those who celebrate it of how they must not only hold onto joy, but embrace it. From this simple premise, a day and night of wild, joyous celebration like no other is born._

_An extract from 'Festivals of the Goddesses', a treatise written by Ansol Icaen, a student of archaic ritual._

High walls of gleaming marble rose from the ground, standing taller than many of the buildings within the city. Watchtowers rose from the walls, of the same stone, and reaching to the heavens. The tiny figures of guardsmen clad in burnished metal stood within many of these towers; particularly those overlooking the city's gates. Closer to the ground, other guards patrolled the ramparts, pausing every so often to peer down, into the city or out across the countryside. Everything was very different to when he had last visited the capital of Hyrule, and even though his eyes were closing in exhaustion, weary from the long trek across an unrelenting climate, and his feet were aching in their boots, Link could not help but stare in amazement at the impressive change in morale and spirit.

It was not just the guards who were livelier than in the past. The whole city was a bustling throng of life. Street-peddlers called their wares, displaying rare fruits or choice vegetables over their heads for the crowds to see, and the people of the city flocked to and fro in an endless mass. The desolate faces seen while the shroud of twilight lay across their spirits was gone. Everything was alive, and even from a distance, Link could hear music echoing from beyond the gates. Streamers and pennants hung from the peaks of the watchtowers, as well as the lesser – and greater – peaks of the nobility's mansion. On the other side of the city, Link could dimly make out the shape of the castle. Colourful banners flew from every tower-top, the largest of all from the tall pointed roof of the central palace. It was the festival of time, the travellers were shocked to realize.

They had lost all track of the days somewhere in the desert, their feet the only things more numb than their minds. Time, which had lost all meaning, was being celebrated here today. Some remnant of joviality spun out from the depths of the traveller's hearts, and their pace quickened.

Night had fallen by the time they had reached the wooden bridge that served as part of the city's defences. It was normally raised only in times of war, but the new policy of a more efficient regime among the guards had led to the resurrection of an old law that had seldom been enforced. The bridge was raised every night, preventing any from crossing until morning. Ashei laughed aloud with the bubbling joy that rose within her when she realized that their fortunate timing had allowed them to avoid yet another night beneath the stars. The bridge was down, and the gates of the city flung wide open. Everyone was welcome during the times of festival.

A wide road paved in the same stone as the walls led from the bridge straight to the castle, in a long promenade filled with revellers. Entertainers gathered on this road; as processions of men-at-arms and visiting men and women of importance, they marched up the length of the central road. They were arranged in rag-tag bunches of different performing groups; at one end, a trio of fire-eaters danced and spun among ribbons of flame, tasting lit torches, and drawing extinguished lengths of charred wood from their mouths. Music was everywhere, from the townsfolk celebrating their good cheer with drink and song, to the bards of the nobles – and even from the castle itself – performing their trade in street corners. Even the darkest-hearted of aristocrat, clutching purse-strings tightly to his chest, would pay his performers to entertain the town on days of festivals.

The cacophony flooded around and over the travel-stained group, washing away the sores of travel and filling them with an insatiable urge to cast aside restraint and throw themselves wholeheartedly into the throng.

Racha was tapped on the shoulder by the sergeant overseeing the expedition to the wastes. The two of them took up places on the wagons carrying all the supplies from the journey – Magur Hedal, who had been inside, attempting to make a final inventory of his herbs, hopped outside. As the guards trundled towards the castle, the others stopped, hovering just inside the city entrance. A mischievous grin lit Magur Hedal's face, and he grabbed Ashei's forearm, pulling her towards the festival. The remaining guards laughed at his boyish glee; the only entertainment for them on this trip had been watching his growing infatuation, and his constant frustration at being kept apart from Ashei by Racha's constant company – or worse, his fumbled attempts at coaxing Ashei into his bed. She had always politely declined Racha's advances, but even refused they were more than enough to set the doctor's teeth grinding.

Link followed the guardsmen to a table set with hundreds of wooden mugs. They tossed rupees at the weasel-faced stall owner, and chose the ones which looked a little less grubby than the others. Kegs of ale were dotted all over the street, many tapped and dry, but many more still full for the night ahead. Losing themselves in the free drink, they joined the revelry.

oOoOoOo

Magur Hedal flinched at seeing the bright light flooding the throne room. His head was still aching from the night before, and he had not slept. As presentable as he could be, save for the dark rings beneath his eyes, and dressed in fresh clothes, he knelt onto the stone floor before the throne.

Stained glass windows adorned the vast hall, outmatched in splendour only by the elaborate statue of Hyrule's divine patrons rising from behind the throne. Stately, and carved from pale marble the shade of the castle's – and Castle Town's – walls, run through with slender veins of deeper colour, the throne was a relic from an era long past. It had been commissioned by one of the rulers of ancient Hyrule, after the original castle had been destroyed by dark magic at the hands of a blasphemous usurper who sought to rule the land with tyrannous power. The tyrant had been thrown down, and the ruler's name recorded in the annals of history as the saviour of Hyrule. A tradition had emerged among the monarchy of Hyrule – the tradition of naming a newborn daughter of the royal family after this ruler; as Zelda. No child was named Zelda more than once in every century, and no child was named Zelda that did not share the blood of their ancestral namesakes.

The sunlight streamed through glass tinted in shades of argent and vermillion, emblazoned green and gold, and argent whites and silvers, illuminating the Princess Zelda. Long flowing waves of hair the colour of honey and straw were interspersed with intricate golden braids. Pale skin shone from within; not the unhealthy glow of the pallid individuals who emerged from cells beneath the ground after weeks, or months, of imprisonment for crimes against the throne, but a delicate vibrancy that suffused the throne room. She matched perfectly the seat of her rule – a porcelain figure atop a marble chair. Seeing her now for the first time, Magur Hedal understood the zeal with which his grandfather had spoken of his monarch.

"You have spent many months in my service, master Hedal, and your work has been admirable. I thank you for the aid you have so graciously given, on behalf of both myself and this beautiful land of ours. Such a task is onerous, and must be rewarded. I grant you the post of Royal Physician, second rank." The princess paused in her speech, seeing Magur Hedal's expression of distaste. He was knelt before her in the stance of subjugation traditional to Hyrule. With one knee placed on the ground, and the other leg touching the cold stone tiles with a foot, his chest was bent over his outreaching leg. Some rulers demanded that their subjects keep in that position for the duration of their audiences. Princess Zelda always asked those who met with her to rise after her first few words. "You have a question, master Hedal?"

From the stone on which he knelt, several steps below the throne on its raised dais, he raised his head to meet her regal gaze.

"I mean no disrespect, my lady." She raised a slender hand clothed in a glove of fine white cloth that covered her forearms, and he fell into silence. This man had been of use. The princess felt that it was only fair to allow him to ask his questions, or pass on his request.

"Please, rise. You need not remain kneeling to speak." A pair of guards straightened as he stood. They had been standing at their ease, spears held in the crook of their arms, and half asleep from the drudgery of listening to the constant swathe of petitions, messages, and visitations from nobles wishing to fawn over the princess in attempt to win favours from the crown. Spears were pointed to the heavens, and shoulders were set in a rigid pose.

"Thank you, my lady. I have no wish to offend you, and hope you do not believe me to be ungrateful. Your praise is most welcome, and you have been very generous." This incessant toadying served no purpose but to waste her time. She loathed the abhorrent lies that some gave to her, scattered between reams of flowery words that meant nothing.

"That is not all you wished to say. Speak freely."

"The ranks of physicians, whether royal or common, are used to determine the skill, wisdom, and experience of the man or woman in question." He was not sure he belonged in the second rank. Physicians of the third rank were little more than medics knowledgeable in herblore, although he had been trained to a much higher standard by his own teacher, and had since then spent most of his time, when not working, studying various illnesses in the libraries of nobles who rarely ventured into them, and kept the books as a sign of prestige. "I would be very honoured to receive the position of a second rank physician, but I'm afraid that I cannot accept it as a reward."

The guards took a half-step forwards, quietly. They made no overt threat, but the message was clear. An insult to their ruler would not be tolerated by a peasant who knew a few simple remedies, even if the insult was as slight as ingratitude. "It would be demeaning to the others of my profession, and the rank, unearned, would be worthless."

There were tales told of doctors unworthy of the title, who did more harm than good. From village farmwives with superstitious remedies that did more harm than good to fraudulent surgeons who amputated the wrong limb, these stories were told among Magur Hedal's colleagues as rumour was among the taverns of Hyrule.

"You have experience, physician of the third rank, and devotion. How many men have travelled so far to treat a patient? How many would possess the knowledge of illnesses so diverse as that young boy's? And how many could, with that knowledge, successfully treat him with the flair that you have?" The princess did not lose her imperturbable regal air. She, too, had heard these tales, and knew many to be fact. Her own mother had died in childbirth, and her father had always harboured the belief that a better midwife could have kept her alive. The woman had almost been penalized by law for treason until the king's advisors had convinced him otherwise. As things stood, she had lost her reputation, and was unable to continue with her career; subject to wild gossip, there were few willing to accept her services. Magur Hedal had no wish to follow in her footsteps.

"It is a single patient you speak of. I cannot claim to be an expert because I could aid one boy." He shifted uneasily on his feet, looking uncomfortable. It did not feel right to turn down something he had been working so hard for, for so long.

"The experts are those of the first rank, are they not? You have earned your rank here in the city, and have proven yourself once more in the distant Direm wastes. In showing the wisdom to refuse the rank, you have proven yourself to be a man of honour, too. Do not confuse honour with pride and be too proud to accept what is yours."

"I...I am grateful. Thank you, my lady."

"Guards." Metal-gloved fists struck breastplates over their hearts in both salute and acknowledgement. Both men straightened, puffing out their chests, and holding their spears even more rigidly than before. "You are dismissed." They left the room as quietly as two men in full armour could. Magur Hedal seemed, if anything, even less comfortable with the guards absent. He was not used to the presence of royalty. "How would you like to show your gratitude, master Hedal?"

"I am your servant, my lady," he said, warily, uncertain of what he was offering, "but I do not understand what it is you wish me to do." Confusion warred with discomfort on his face, and won.

"What I wish is for you to tell me everything you know about the man named Link."

oOoOoOo

Once Magur Hedal had left the festivities and gone to his home, in order to wash away the dirt of the journey before his audience with the princess, Ashei had gone in search of Link. A friend of her father's was in need of a new worker – she had seen the opportunity, and offered Link as a candidate for the job as a blacksmith's forge-hand. Both men had accepted, and Link had turned up at the forge the next morning.

The other workers were already at work, just beginning to fill the air with the ring of hammers. Kestrin, the owner of the forge, and blacksmith, had nodded briskly to Link in a brief greeting before calling for his other worker.

"Ezra!" A head poked around the doorway, a little younger than Link. "Show Link the ropes. And don't teach him how to be a clumsy buffoon, I have my work cut out tripping over one of you."

Link rose an eyebrow, turning to look at Ezra, who raised his hands in protest.

"That was an accident!" Kestrin chuckled to himself, seeing the look of righteous indignation on Ezra's face, and dismissed his labourers with a wave of his hand.

"An expensive one." The clang of Kestrin's hammer striking stock metal sitting on an anvil overrode Ezra's attempts at protesting innocence. He gave up quickly, being all too familiar with Kestrin's stubborn nature, and shrugged.

"He's not too bad once you get to know him," he muttered to Link, pulling him out of the forge by his arm, and into the paved courtyard outside. "Don't ever let him know I said that or he'll make my life hell for a few days until I take it back." A stableyard joined the courtyard at one end, populated by a single palomino horse. It was being brushed down by a stable-hand with straw matting a leather jerkin similar to the one Ezra wore. "A delivery just came, so we're in luck. This is a fun task. See that cart?" The cart in question had been abandoned on the far side of the courtyard, with one wheel disappearing into the shade cast by the stable's roof. It, like the stalls of the stable, was covered in straw – cushioning for the crates bouncing about across cobbled streets.

"The one covered in enough crates to build a house with?"

"That's the one. We're going to be unloading it." As Ezra spoke, the stable-hand unfastened the horse's harness, freeing it from the cart. "You may want to lose the tunic soon, or it'll be soaking wet within a few hours." Ezra knew all too well the danger of this – the heat from the forge, combined with the effort lifting and toting about the heavy crates, had often given him more than enough cause to sweat through his labours.

The stable-hand dropped the harness into the back of the stable, and mounted the horse. He used no saddle, gripping the animal with his legs in the manner of someone very familiar with the skill of riding. Having often ridden in that manner himself, Link appreciated the ease with which he rode.

"I'm done here. Kestrin knows where to send my payment." Ezra raised a hand in a mixture of acknowledgement and farewell.

"Aye. I'll bring it round in a few days. Link, give me a hand with these or it'll never get done."

The work was monotonous, but Ezra was left with little breath for idle chat. Link was happy to stay silent; he was still a little unsure of himself around other people. Something of the wolf was in him still – a yearning desire for the cool night breeze and the thrill of a hunt. Perhaps it was the wolf in him, too, that made him shy away from frequent contact with many people. Unaware city crowds did not bother him, but being the centre of attention made him wary.

Hours flew by with only a few brief breaks for food or water – prolonged effort in the heat was thirsty work. The sky was darkening to evening when Kestrin finally emerged from the forge. Most of the crates had been unloaded – his supply of raw metal for the next few months. Link was efficient, he noted. It would have taken Ezra three days or more to move the crates Link had in one.

"Alright lads, that'll do." Link paused, a crate of steel ingots clutched in his arms. "That's enough work for one night." Kestrin gestured towards the wagon, indicating for Link to put it back down. "We can finish up in the morning." The wagon wheels creaked and buckled slightly under the weight, and then again, more loudly, when Ezra dropped his own load unceremoniously beside it. A fine sheen of sweat covered Ezra's shirtless chest and arms, glistening in the dim light. His breathing was heavy.

"Keeps you warm, this does. Couldn't keep it up for long in high summer, aye Link?"

"It's...." Link's response was hesitant, unsure. He looked untouched by the hours of labour, eyes still shining brightly, and was by no means tired; he knew that his stamina far outpaced that of most men – a gift from the goddesses – and had no wish to demean Ezra's efforts. If anything, his remarkable strength and endurance had vastly increased since his days in the wastes. Living as an animal his senses and reflexes had all become considerably sharper, finely tuned to the task of finding prey and evading hunters.

He reached up to brush tangled strands of hair from where they often fell, into his eyes, but his fingers passed through the air unmet. His companions laughed openly at his momentary disorientation.

"Remember this?" Kestrin tugged at the thin leather braid holding back Link's unruly mop. Similar braids held back his own grey-streaked hair in a warrior's queue; Ezra's was too short for a braid to be of any use. The braids kept their hair back from the flames of the forge, and prevented hot sparks from singing it. There were many dangers to a careless blacksmith. The three of them wore dark leather aprons, streaked with soot and stained from hours of use at the forge. Retiring to the post of weapon and armour smith after taking a permanent limp, Kestrin was instructing the two younger men in the art of maintaining weaponry. Neither of them needing much in the way of education, that task had resulted in free labour for the aging smith. "Come on lad. We'll get you a drink to keep out the cold. Ezra! It's time to come take a peek at your new lass."

"Kestrin, I told you, she's not my girl."

Kestrin continued to tease his youngest worker until her reached a tavern. Unlike the grimier drinking dens set in darker alleys, or the cheap alehouses he usually frequented, this was a tall building of wood and stone, fairly close to the richer parts of the city where the aristocracy dwelt in at the times that they were not in their expansive countryside estates. He rarely came to this sort of establishment, preferring the jovial, close-packed, and occasionally violent nature of cheaper taverns. It was always good to let off steam, and nothing beat a fast and hard brawl with a stranger who was too deep in his ale to pause in his insults, or hold back when provoked to blows. An old friend of his owned this tavern, and Ashei had hinted that he'd like to meet Link. He didn't object to spending a few extra rupees to see Ezra's blushes, either.

Lanterns coated in a wire mesh were sparsely arrayed across the stone walls of the tavern, lighting the room. Shuttered windows lined one wall, all closed against the chill of night. A roaring fire filled the grate, surrounded by a motley assortment of townsfolk seated on low-backed chairs and stools. The trio of guardsmen jostled past the other patrons to reach the bar.

"Ella, my fair-haired beauty, what are you doing in such a rough place? This is no place for a pretty maid like your fine self." Some of the more unsavoury nearby drinkers sniggered, never growing tired of teasing the ever-exasperated barmaid. Her father had been a close friend of Ezra's mother – a little too close, according to the local gossipmongers, and the pair had known one another since childhood. Her hair was pale, almost white, falling in a long straight sheaf. It would have given her a regal, almost serene air, had it not been for the soft, round face that it framed. Teeth flashed in a constant false smile at the customers clamouring for her attention. At Ezra, she was able to lower her eyebrows into a frown.

"No more free drinks Ezra. If my uncle didn't own the tavern I'd have been thrown out of this job long ago for all that you've pilfered from me."

"That many, huh? See Ezra, she does like you!" A faint pink tinge suffused his cheeks and crept up the side of his throat. Nobody could tell in the firelight, but his embarrassment only caused his face to grow warmer still.

"Stop teasing the boy, old man." Ezra winced. She wasn't any older than he was – she was actually nearly three years younger, but had always treated him as if it was the other way around. "Hand over some rupees if you want to wet your throat, or you can just keep on standing there like a moonstruck fool."

"You haven't told us how much it costs yet!"

"That's because you haven't ordered anything."

"I...ah..." Kestrin clapped a heavy hand on Link's shoulder, putting his mouth close to Link's ear so he could be heard over the noise of the tavern without having to raise his voice.

"Link, leave Ezra to carry on ogling the girl. There's somebody I'd like you to meet." Ashei had suggested that he introduce Link to the tavern owner, and Kestrin felt that he owed Auru a visit; the two had been brothers in arms once, long ago, and were still firm friends, even if they did not see as much of each other as they once had.

"...once, and only once. That is the end of matters, had you but the sense to recognize it. Things are changing in Hyrule for the better. We are still held subject to the same ruler, but it is not the same rule as we knew such a short time ago. Do you remember how beasts roamed the countryside and bandits torched every farm only five years ago? No. You do not. Five years ago you were at your father's mansion playing at learning how to wave that sword about. Now get away from me. I have no interest in your petty struggle for power." Auru was mid-way through a discussion with a sallow young man who looked to be of Ezra's age, although clad in much finer clothing, with a hint of gold embroidery on the sleeves of his tunic.

The young man had a sour expression on his sunken cheeks, and immaculately groomed hair fell to his shoulders, ending in a slight curl. Leaning forwards, he thumped his fists down onto the table Auru was sitting at. Auru made a show of busying himself filling a slender pipe, ignoring the young man.

"Auru, listen to me! We must do something. The Princess will lead us all to ruin with these schemes of hers. They go against everything that Hyrule stands for! The Council will step in and limit her actions where we can, but your support would be invaluable. Your actions five years ago were what gave us the ability to act, now like we have never been able to before. Now, with you in our number, we can wrest some measure of dominance over the people of Hyrule from the tyrant, and give it –"

"To you and your cronies?" The man was standing – Auru was not. One of them took a long draw on his pipe, gazing at the other in a nonchalant manner. The target of his gaze straightened as if stung by an insect, continuing to rant in a zealous fashion.

"We are only the figurehead, and will perform as best we can on behalf of everyone. Even you."

"Pester somebody else, you pathetic little despot. Preferably someone drunk enough that they cannot make out your words. " Hearing the youth forcing his attention upon Auru be dismissed, Kestrin pushed him aside gently but forceful, sitting on the stool he had stood in front of.

"Auru."

"So the old badger still lives! It has been a while, hasn't it? I must say, I'm impressed with you Kestrin. You're standing inside a tavern and showing no sign of trying to – " Auru took the pipe out of his mouth, dispassionate irritation quickly becoming replaced by a look of pleased surprise. The ignored young man interrupted angrily.

"There will be repercussions for your –"

Kestrin's fist met the side of his face, sending him sprawling. Little brats like that mouthing off had always been among the things which drove his patience into splinters - not that he had much to begin with. His love for brawling didn't help with restraint, either, but the floored youth scrambled to his feet and sauntered out of the tavern, trying to resist the urge to touch the stinging lump on his cheek, giving no opportunity for Kestrin to take things further.

"Start a fight." "I suppose that was deserved, but I do wish that you had not struck the boy. He is a fool, but he has friends who could make life very unpleasant for you."

He was the son of a rich and powerful noble, and the children of old money had a bad reputation for being quick to take out their displeasure on those they regarded beneath them – the glint of gold in a purse would sometimes lead to the glint of steel in a dark alleyway.

"I don't take kindly to fools. Especially not ones who threaten my old drinking buddy."

"I'm afraid that I've drowned my sorrows enough for this evening. Still, your company will be welcome. Please, join me." Gesturing to one of the tavern maids passing by, he asked for drinks to be brought for his companions, and motioned for Link to sit.

"This is Link, my new worker. The one who brought him to me thought that you might like to see him."

"They were right."

Auru leaned forwards as his departed nuisance had; in interest, rather than aggression. He'd listened to every rumour he could find of the hero in green, but had heard nothing new for a very long time. The assumption that he had left Hyrule behind and gone in search of greater adventure in new lands was the only explanation he could bring to mind – if half the tales were true, the thought of him taking on a challenge too dangerous and leaving not just Hyrule but life itself behind was simply unthinkable.

"Ansol's daughter always is when it comes to you. You two used to be close." That, Kestrin thought, was an understatement. They had been inseparable, along with a few others, spending vast amounts of time together in a little known drinking den hidden away in an alley close to the central road in the city.

"I haven't seen her in years. I should take the time to see her again soon though. To thank her for getting you here, Link. Last I saw of you was halfway up a castle littered with corpses of monsters, just before this land stopped slinking into chaos." His question ended with what sounded suspiciously like a question. Link was very tight-lipped about his acts of heroism, but that did not quell Auru's desire to know about them – it just gave him cause to ask in a subtler way.

"I was...away."

"A warrior's work is never done, hmm?"

Link laughed quietly, suddenly struck by the irony of Auru's statement. He hadn't had any work as a warrior left to do; that was why he had gone from Hyrule, and had his absent-minded spirit fall into the wolfish state Ashei had brought him out from.

"Just a blacksmith's spare pair of arms for now, Auru. You're looking well."

"Life has been kind to me in your absence. Let me buy you another drink; share my good fortune."

Taking in for the first time the fine cut of his clothing, Link remembered how the maids had jumped to obey him quickly. Kestrin hadn't told him that Auru owned the tavern.

"I guess I can let you do that, as payment for the favour I owe you."

"Favour?"

Link cocked his head slightly, not sure why Auru seemed not to know what he meant. He, and his friends, had been of invaluable assistance. If not for them, he would have been unable to reach the evil nestled in the heart of the castle, let alone defeat it.

"You helped me enter the castle, before I left."

"Link!" Auru burst out laughing, wiping tears of merriment from the corners of his eyes when the laughter eventually faded away. "You are the one who did me a favour by going up there! Me and the rest of Hyrule. Not to mention what you have done all across this land. While you were gone I have heard your name in every corner of this land in tales of a blue-eyed warrior driving back horrific creatures, and rescuing those who had no hope left. Why, I even heard tales of you rescuing zoran royalty, and...Well, that is a matter of the past. Let us talk of the present. What are you doing with yourself besides lugging about hammers for a lazy soldier who lost his army?"

The evening passed in a lazy pace, Kestrin and Auru talking of times past and present, reminiscing over their time together as soldiers, and discussing how their relative businesses were progressing. After a while, Link began to join their conversation, growing a little more comfortable with them as the minutes trickled by and he was simply accepted among them – not set aside as a creature somehow more than human by awestruck company. Every moment that passed without his glorious deeds being mentioned was a moment in which Link grew more companionable.

He was enjoying himself in company for the first time in a long while – there had been no privacy on the trek back to Hyrule, only endless whispers and speculation from the guardsmen. Ashei had been pleasant company, but the two were rarely alone together. Most of the rare opportunities for privacy were taken by Magur Hedal, who had grown a steady affection for Ashei over the course of the journey, despite being able to say little more than a dozen words to her in a day, save on rare occasions.

The other men had lost themselves in the pleasures of idle talk, too, and only realized the late hour when Ezra came to join them – Ella had gone to throw herself onto pillows and catch rest from the strain of a day's work on top of the exhaustive festivities only a day ago. Ezra suggested that they follow her example, and the others agreed.

As Link rose to leave, Auru caught him by the arm, fixing him with his firm gaze.

"Remember that you're more than a common forge-hand. I'm looking forward to seeing you with steel in your hands once more."

Link remembered. His hands missed the feel of a sword hilt, and he longed for the heady rush of combat. It seemed unlikely that he would find any battles working in a forge, and the evils of Hyrule were beginning to be kept at bay by the guards in the Golden Shield. There was no fight to be found for anyone who was not a soldier.

_A monarch must be prepared to use each and every one of their subjects, no matter whom they may be. As a farmer's taxes may be used to pay the men who uphold law and order, so must a nobleman's personal guard be used in defence of the crown in times of war. The best of rulers know this, and will use even the ones they hold dearest as pawns in the game of thrones._

_The Writings of King Tessian, ruler of Hyrule during no less than a dozen different wars._


	7. Broken Toys

_**A/N: Thanks for reading so far. I'll keep this short so you can get on with reading; hopefully if you've stuck with me this long, you'll want to get on with it already. I'm planning to update a lot more frequently form now on - ideally on a weekly basis. Not sure where that plan will lead me, so be sure to leave lots of reviews as motivation when I'm writing!** _On a side note that's in smaller text because I'm ashamed of it, one of the characters may have had a small mishap that changed some instaces of his name to 'FancyHat' - just ignore them and tell me if there's any I missed. I think I got 'em all, but you can never be sure.

oOoOoOof

_It is only in the midst of battle, when adrenaline floods through veins and the fdesire to survive overwhelms all other instincts, that a warrior is wholly alive. Everything else is but a pale shadow in comparison to the struggle with spectres lurking beyond the grave, and no man, having tasted it, and drunk deeply from the wine of combat, can find his true calling in aught but war._

_From the writings of Jedran Hestir, warrior-acolyte of the Icaen_

_oOoOoOo_

Flickering embers lit the room, heating it as if beneath the sun at noon, despite the early hour. Had the forge been within the countryside of Ordona, Link would have heard the light trill of birds heralding the new day. Here, in the city, it was quiet; an eerie reversal of what he had become accustomed to. Even in the dead of night, there were people awake and going about their business – often a touch on the wrong side of the law – but there were few who had chosen to rise from their beds so close to the break of dawn. In all honesty, dawn had not yet risen.

The sky held a faint grey tinge; the sun had not yet risen, so the light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Wide doors flung back let this light in, filling Link's new place of work with the gloomy illumination that seemed to share the weary feelings of the city-dwellers. Only those who had no choice left behind the comfort of their blankets to go about their daily tasks. Shopkeepers pulled cartons of produce out onto stalls, or set up rows of products on shelves, often displaying their merchandise in windows, for their future customers to see. In the distance, beyond even Link's sharp hearing, the guard was changing up on the walls and tower-tops. Here at the forge it was Link who stood awake, waiting for his fellow workers to join him.

Working as a ranch-hand had given Link the habit of waking before the day had truly begun. There were always animals to be roused or chores to be done, in an endless secession of monotony he had only escaped when leaving his home behind to walk along the path of fate. It was a cruel joke on the part of whatever gods ruled over his destiny, if such a thing existed, as his habit of an early start to each day had been his saving grace on a number of occasions – Hyrule was a dangerous land to be in alone, and even a hero chosen by a higher power could be caught off-guard whilst sleeping. Wandering bands of the vile creatures that plagued his travels with all the vociferous nature of rats had often come across him, drawn to what they believed to be a victim by avarice rooted deep within their twisted hearts. By the time they were close enough to see the gleam of sunlight reflected from cold steel, it was too late.

Kestrin had not noticed what he was doing the night before, through some mixture of desire for sleep or the effects of free drinks on Auru's behalf, and had given Link his set of keys to the forge without a backwards glance or consideration for the fact that he had only known Link for a day. The notion that the retired soldier was far too trusting crossed Link's mind briefly, but he quickly disregarded such thoughts, explaining it away by KKestrin's slurred speech and unsteady walk. Looking into actions of even those he believed were his allies had saved him on more than one occasion, and suspicion was a hard habit to drop. By the time morning rolled around he believed that Kestrin had simply wanted to escape the onerous chore of an early start to the day; Link didn't mind, as he would be awake anyway. Living as an animal, he had risen with the sun, and some habits were hard to break. As far as other habits were concerned, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to break them – or not.

Soft footfalls behind Link alerted him to another man's presence. Inhaling deeply, he recognized the newly familiar scent of Kestrin with some difficulty. It was hard to pick out a single smell among the various odours that filled the city. Some were unpleasant, but for the most part it was simply overwhelming. He was getting used to it, slowly.

"Auru seemed full of tall tales about you, Link," Kestrin said, having burnt through the ale with memories intact enough to surprise anyone who was not a soldier. In his military days, he had become accustomed to drinking enough to kill a small bear, and then going on to parade in full armour with an agonizing hangover.

Link turned, fishing keys out of a pocket within his leather jerkin, and tossed them into the air with a gentle flick – slow enough that Kestrin could still catch them. The little tubes and teeth of metal jingled against one another in their short flight, and crunched together with a harsher sound when Kestrin's fist closed around them.

"Full of his own cheap ale, too."

"Still, I have heard a few of those rumours myself." He would have had to live in a hole in the ground to avoid hearing them. Whispers of a saviour had run in a flood through Hyrule, each more incredible and unbelievable than the last. "The mysterious hero clad in green, with his noble steed and his wrathful blade. The dashing figure he cut outlined against the bodies of monsters –" He broke off to look at Link, who had begun to laugh.

Link had a slow, easy chuckle, with no hint of cruelty or threat in it. Kestrin remembered that the man in charge of his own training, so many years ago, had shared that kind of laugh. He had been one of the most dangerous men Kestrin had ever met.

"I'm not wearing green, Kestrin." It was true that Link had spent a lot of time wearing green – grass stains from ranch work did not show up so easily on green, and once he had begun his journey, the hero's garb was an inevitable mark of who he was; one he had no real desire to remove until after his quest had finished. The previous day, he had been gifted with a full new set of clothing; a leather jerkin and apron to protect his chest, and clothes made from a sturdy brown fabric. Already, the apron was beginning to show blemishes from oil and black marks from flame, despite the fact that he had spent little time inside the actual forge. "Just the same old leathers as you."

Kestrin took offence – or at least pretended to – at that remark. "Show some respect for an artisan's livery, boy!" As he spoke, he thumped a fist onto his apron, over his heart, in mock imitation of the salute used by the Hylian military. "I've an important client due here soon, and if you show such little respect in front of him!"

"I promise that I'll be on my best behaviour. No promises about Ezra."

"Bah! It's bad enough with a rookie, but a klutz as well? I can feel my money pouch growing lighter just thinking of what his clumsiness will cost me." Unnoticed by Kestrin, a tall man with a soldier's posture stood just outside the forge's doorway. His hair, unlike Kestrin's, was only streaked with flecks of grey, and was cut fairly short, as if he was accustomed to wearing a helmet. He wore no uniform, and wore simple clothing, but of a finer cut than many of the lesser nobility.

"Important customer?" Link asked, catching the newcomer's eye. Despite his stern countenance, his eyes seemed to twinkle with a scarcely hidden joviality, lightening his expression. Upon seeing this gleam in his eyes, the corner of Link's mouth curled upwards in a near-smile. Kestrin's eyes narrowed at seeing this, thinking that Link was making a jest at his expense. The stiff-backed stranger winked at Link as Kestrin's voice rose in the not-quite serious bark of a practiced drill sergeant.

"Important!"

He swatted at the side of Link's head, forgetting that he held the bunch of keys in his hand. Keys entwined through fingers made a deadly weapon in bar-fights, as he knew all too well, and a flash of horror at the injury he was sure to inflict upon his newest worker flickered across Kestrin's face. Link's slight smile changed into a broad grin for the first time in months; the first time since leaping onto the back of a deer in the midst of a hunt. A grin born from joy as the reflexes and rush of battle flooded through his limbs.

He leaned back slightly, just as the hand was about to connect, and felt the rush of air against his skin when it passed a hair's breadth above his face. Twisting as he lifted his head, Link pushed his chin downwards, trapping Kestrin's overreached wrist against his chest, and flicked his entire upper body sharply backwards, his legs not moving from where they had been before Kestrin attempted to swat him like an irritating insect. Kestrin wasn't sure what had happened, not even having time to register his surprise – he was flung over Link's contorted body by the force of his motion, sailing clean through the air to land on the flagstones, facing upwards.

The newcomer hid an amused smile at the sight of Kestrin sprawled on the floor, stepping over to offer him a hand. Kestrin looked up, and recognized him, scrambling upwards himself as quickly as he could without accepting the offer of help.

"I see that your battlefield reflexes have slowed since I last saw them, Kestrin," the stranger said, a stern mask covering his amusement. Folding his arms and narrowing his eyes, he took up the pose that Kestrin had attempted to emulate a moment ago, in scolding Link for his unspoken jibe.

"Captain Sanders!"

Kestrin's exclamation startled Link – it was in the tone of a schoolboy caught doing something wrong by a teacher, or a child interrupted in the process of raiding a pantry of sweet delicacies. He had some history with the captain, Link guessed. He was right. Over a decade ago, Kestrin had been trained by the captain to be a member of the more prestigious elements in the decadent Hylian forces. Occupying border forts against marauders from mountain settlements that held allegiance to no land, and destroying the cartels of bandits roaming Hyrule in the days of the princess' father, on top of a number of more select assignments guarding the aristocracy as they travelled across the land, had been among his – and his brothers in arms' – more common tasks.

"This is your customer?" Link asked, raising an eyebrow at Kestrin's flustered expression.

"Y-yes, this is –" he broke off suddenly, glaring at Link. "What was that? You just..." Kestrin's voice tailed off, and he tried to remember his days as a warrior. He had been thrown about, attacked with blades and blunt instruments alike, despite his best attempts to avoid contact with the wrong end of an enemy's weapon, but he had never seen someone perform such an unusual and successful manoeuvre as Link just had, without showing any sign of effort. Having witnessed firsthand how easily the young man had disarmed an opponent – albeit an unwitting one – Kestrin could begin to believe some of the tales about is fighting prowess. Before this moment he had assumed it all to be wild tales that Auru had picked up on and laid at the feet of the young man from Ordona, but now he was not so sure that Auru had been exaggerating as much as he had thought.

Captain Sanders interrupted Kestrin's train of thought, rapping him on the head with his knuckles. It was how he had ensured the attention of those placed under his instruction, and brought back fond memories, waking the blacksmith from his reverie.

"A very impressive trick to pull off, young man. Are you a trained fighter looking to sample Kestrin's wares, or...?" When no answer was forthcoming, the captain waved it away, understanding Link's desire to stay out of the spotlight. "No matter. I see by your rather tasteless choice in clothing that you're one of the smith's accomplices. A dancer looking to make his way into honest work, perhaps?" The final question was double-edged, and Link recognized the captain's hidden meaning. The constant struggle between life and death was a fierce battle, with the combatants spinning and whirling about one another, arms flailing with blades in hand, and the spectre of the grave lurking over their shoulders. Each and every fight that he had ever been in was a small part of his eternal dance with death.

Link nodded, slowly. If he wasn't a dancer with death, there was little he could claim to be. To participate in the morbid ballet of the gods was his calling in life; a calling that he had fulfilled over, and over, and over again, until at last his divine future had finished, and he was left pathless and wandering – wandering into the mind and soul of an animal.

"Yes. You could say that." An answering gleam in the captain's eyes showed that he'd understood the question correctly. The two men looked at one another for a moment, sizing each other up. The captain was lean, and wiry, yet showed signs of solid muscle beneath his clothing. He looked the image of an older soldier; no longer a simple unit of hack and slash tactics, but something higher, and more refined. An officer, Link thought – he was completely correct. As Sanders' scrutiny continued, Link began to feel uncomfortable. His icy blue eyes grew colder, and more distant.

Kestrin broke in, feeling the tension hanging in the air – although not wholly recognizing the sense of danger that was beginning to emanate from Link. He put an arm around Sanders' shoulders, and pulled him towards the back end of the forge, where he kept his tools, and some of his current commissions. The prize of his collection was an unfinished blade, silvery-white and deadly. It was covered in a thin silk cloth, to prevent the air – or Ezra's prying hands – from tarnishing the steel. Kestrin pulled the cloth away with a flourish, revealing the incomplete weapon with an equal mix of showmanship and pride.

"The jewel of my work to date, and it will soon be yours. You like?" The captain made a low noise of approval deep within his throat, reaching out one hand to touch the blade. He paused before coming into contact with the pristine metal, turning his head to look at Kestrin.

"May I?" he asked, eagerness rampant in his voice. Kestrin shook his head, not wanting to risk the slightest mote of dust or dirt on his ultimate piece of craftsmanship until it was complete. Sanders sighed softly in disappointment, understanding the reason, but not liking it all that much either.

"Of course. It would be a shame to sully such fine work before it had a chance to be used properly." Link crossed the room, joining the others admiring the play of light upon steel, rippling against itself where the metal had been folded back onto itself countless time by the smith's masterful skill. All remaining harshness left him, and his eyes, too, lit up at the sight of a weapon so exquisite as this.

"I take it you like this as well, Link?" Kestrin asked him, a smirk adorning his face.

Link nodded warily, not sure where Kestrin was going, but feeling that the older man was up to something; his smirk was certainly very suspicious.

"Good. You'll be the one to finish it."

Eyes opening wide in surprise, Link tried to protest.

"I don't know anything about crafting a sword. I would probably end up destroying what you've already done." His pleas met deaf ears and a sadistic grin. It was mostly complete, but someone was needed to perform the tiring chore of affixing and balancing the hilt – as well as wrapping the hilt with a binding cord to give it a rough, easily graspable surface that would not injure the hand of its wielder.

Link would be set the task of assuring himself – and Kestrin – that the weapon as a whole was perfectly balanced once the hilt was attached. It was a difficult and onerous requirement of every blade of high quality, but one made easier by skill and familiarity with blade; Kestrin could have done it himself, and would have done so if his only other option was Ezra's assistance. Now that he had Link to use for this chore, he was more than willing to take advantage of a second pair of hands. Besides, he wanted to see for himself some of Link's famed swordsmanship – a result partly of Auru's stories, but mostly from the little tumble at Link's instigation he had taken onto his own floor.

Just as he was about to explain this to Link, and remove some of the burden from his unprepared shoulders, Ezra sauntered into the forge. Kestrin's expression darkened – Ezra was late for work.

"You, boy! Where have you been?" Kestrin couldn't truly fault Ezra for being a little late, not after the amount of ale he had seen him consume the night before, and the much greater amount he had seen him throw down his throat on the night before that, on the day of the festival, but he enjoyed pretending to shout at the young man from time to time. It kept him on his toes, so to speak.

"I...erm..."

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Kestrin's demand for an answer was half-hearted; he knew very well where Ezra was likely to have been – in bed for as long as he had hoped could get away with, clutching an aching head.

"I...went to see Ella when I woke and lost track of time." The sun was now well above the horizon, and the mid-morning city bustle was beginning to grow. In the forge it was not too loud, and the distance from any main streets kept it fairly secluded from passers-by, save those who had cause to be in the area. Hearing the answer, all three men in the forge shared a quiet chuckle at Ezra's expense, seeing the crimson blush that flushed his cheeks. They all knew what it was like to be under the spell of a pretty girl, and to spend hours hanging onto her every word for as long as she would let them. Except for Link, who had been thrown about Hyrule on a madcap journey to save the world. Sure, he knew that it was his fate, and the path set before him by the three patron goddesses of Hyrule, but that wasn't the real reason why he had set out as he had. He had wanted to leave his village and see the world, and he had wanted to help the youngsters from his village that he was so fond of. He had gained a real pleasure out of assisting the countless people in need of his aid. But none of them had been what had truly motivated him to such extreme lengths. He had gone out to save Hyrule because a pretty girl had looked at him with her pretty eyes and told him that she'd lost her land. And he was damn well going to get it back for her.

Sanders came up beside Link, ignoring the bickering pair that they shared the room with. Looking at each other, Sanderssaw the tense set of Link's shoulders, and Link saw a look he could only describe as a kind of hunger in the captain's guarded expression.

"Do Shaine Erriane – the Hylian guards – are in need of skilled young fighters such as yourself. You may even pick up a few new tricks in our basic training. It's a rewarding life, and if you're as sharp as you appear to be, you could quickly rise through the ranks."

The opportunity to join an organized military force was not one Link had come across before. While it would indeed give him the opportunity to practice his talents as a warrior, and bring him to various nefarious creatures to battle with, it would place him under stricter rule and restriction than he was accustomed to. It may not be the best idea, but at this point he was almost willing to risk it for the sake of getting his blood pumping through his veins once more. Without the dance of death, life seemed so much duller, like a painting that had faded away and lost its glossy varnished surface. It just wasn't the same; it wasn't good enough, not for him.

"Your offer is...intriguing. But I'm not sure it's what I want." Sanders' hopes soared – all Link needed was a little convincing, and the effort was more than worth what he would gain from such an agreement.

"What more could a man ask from life?"The question was asked with an inquisitive smile, and Link was put at ease by the captain's disarming grin. "Carousing with your blade-brothers in the barracks long after the sun has set, casting out arrow and spear against the sky, protecting this beautiful land of Hyrule – you love Hyrule as much as we all do, hmm?"

"Of course I do," Link replied, shrugging off his wariness. This was beginning to sound like a better idea all the time. It would be good to have a few sparring partners in the city, at any rate, even if they could not hold a candle to his own ability.

"Hey!" Sanders continued in a pleading tone, far too obvious to be taken seriously. "You may even get to meet the princess!"

Link's hackles rose, like a cornered dog, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled sharply. His eyes had no trace of warmth in them; cold azure glaciers glared at the captain, who took half a step backwards in surprise, looking shocked at the sudden change in Link's demeanour.

"No." It was a short, flat statement. Irrefutable. From his tone, Link made it clear that he would brook no argument. Bringing the princess into things was more than he was willing to do. Turning on his heel, he fled from the forge.

The princess was a touchy subject for him. He pushed her out of his mind as best he could, walking along the sunny streets of Castle Town, oblivious to the throng darting around him. An aura of menace he could not contain parted the crowds in a wave before him, while his thoughts still dwelt on the golden-haired monarch of Hyrule. Once his brooding spirit was subdued, and his dark mood lifted a little, the people around him no longer hurried to get out of his way. Unfortunately, he was unable to appreciate this – he had been completely oblivious to everything else as he paced through the city, and there were no longer any people about. He stood in the midst of Hyrule's vast grassland, several miles from the stonework bridge leading out of the town.

Link stood amidst a wide open space dotted sparsely with trees and low hills. Occasional cliffs, and fences, broke up the greenery, changing it from a green ocean too vast to see across into a pleasant pasture, save for the fact that there were no real living creatures to be found, only a small number of rabbits gathered beneath the base of one tree, and a flock of birds wheeling high overhead. Watching their flight, the cloud over his mind seemed to lift, and he continued walking, outwards and onwards into Hyrule, determined to enjoy a casual afternoon stroll.

Close to an hour had passed before his peace was broken. A horse ran past, tossing his head and shrieking in noises of panic that sounded far too human for Link's liking. He saw and heard it coming from some distance, and his fighting reflexes meant that he would be able to use knowledge gained on an Ordon ranch.

As the frightened animal charged past him, Link leapt into the air, swinging a leg over the horse's back, and tugged sharply on the back of its long ears. Normally this would only cause the horse to become even more fraught with fear and pain, but it was already as terrified as it was going to get.

The pain caused a touch of anger to break through the horse's fear, and it began to blame its terror – all of its terror – on the thing on its back, tugging upon its ears. It blamed Link. The fear-stricken horse changed from flight to fight, and began to buck and rear violently, attempting to throw off the rider. Link held on by an impossibly tight grip, the horse held captive between his legs. It didn't take long for the animal to realize it could not defeat the creature dominating it, but that didn't stop its angry motion.

It stopped when Link leaned forward and growled softly in its ear. Deep and menacing, it was the sound of a feral beast, as wild as he had ever been. It startled him for a moment, but he put it out of his mind, trying to focus on the task at hand. The horse was standing stock-still, as if frozen to the ground. Link had always had a firm connection with animals, and he had convinced the horse to stop running, and to listen to him. That was the hard part.

Perhaps from the reassuring scent he held, or perhaps simply from the shock of hearing a wolf's voice coming from the throat of a man, Link was able to force the horse to retrace its frightened steps, back to where it had come from. It had bolted from a scene of chaos.

A wooden cart lay shattered on the ground, various chunks of wood sticking into the ground at odd angles. Wheels lay on their sides, and one had been completely destroyed, the rim and spokes scattered haphazardly around the base of a tree. The scent of blood filled his nostrils; a horrifying, and delicious scent that set his senses tingling, more alert than they had been all day.

Link dismounted, fastening the horse to a nearby tree with a length of rope that had come from the ruined cart. It was not a tight knot, or especially firm, but it was enough to ensure that the horse did not run away, heedless of Link's attempts to calm it, the moment his foot touched the ground. Three steps forward was all it took for the full carnage around him to be revealed. Straw from the back of the wagon littered the ground, painted here and there with crimson spots of blood. His eyes followed the trail of blood – huddled on the other side of the cart, and slumped against it for support; a man sat sprawled upright, eyelids close to closing.

He was short, and rotund, with thin brown hair spread across a balding head. Link estimated his age as at least two decades above his own, but still less than Kestrin's. He heard a low groan – the man was still conscious.

Link had to decide quickly; with injuries such as those, it could be dangerous to move him about unless absolutely necessary, but if left here, he would surely die. The man moved, and his eyes opened a fraction, then widening at the sight of Link.

"Get out of here! Before they come back!"

His voice trembled with the exertion of speaking, and shook with weariness, but he did not sound so close to death's door as Link had imagined. "They thought they could ambush me...but I showed them." Mumbling to himself, his head dropped a little – with a tremendous effort, he managed to force his gaze back to Link, and pleaded with Link to leave. "They'll be back to finish me off. I didn't kill all of them. Go!"

"Who?" Link asked, confused. There were no signs of other wounded nearby; nothing to show for the injured man's opponent.

"Those filthy creatures. Hoping to rob me blind, but they didn't count on my friend here." He patted a hand on a thick cudgel propped, like he was, against the carcass of the cart. Chunks of metal and stone jutted out from its wooden surface at odd angles, and in places it was stained dark by blood. Link sniffed the air again, and he understood. Most of the blood was not human; close enough to fool him when he did not know what to look for, but still, not the scent of human blood. "Fine. Stay and die like a fool. What's your name, lad?"

"I am called Link," he said, paying little attention to the victim of a monster's attack, choosing instead to look around, examining the scenery with greater scrutiny, looking for the bodies of the slain. Most creatures vile enough to attack people would not hesitate in their onslaught even with debilitating injuries, and would have to be killed before relenting enough for a victim to rest against the side of a cart.

"Talon." Link nodded absent-mindedly in acknowledgement, still looking about himself, unsure of what could have happened to the creatures. Talon, even in his state of exhaustion, quickly realized what Link was after. With a quick jerk of his head, he gestured to a tree with wide branches and thick roots.

"There's a ditch under those roots. I chucked the damned things in there when their companions ran off."

Pacing across the few metres of crimson-stained grass and stray whiskers of straw, Link quickly came to stand at the edge of the gulley in the earth, seeing for himself the results of Talon's nimble-fingered work with a cudgel. Three bokoblins lay atop one another in unnatural positions, with slivers of white showing through from broken bones – not to mention the matted carpet of a drying sanguine fluid in the ditch.

"You said more were coming?"

"They always do," Talon answered. Every time in a monster attack that one escaped, it always came back with reinforcements, desperate to lay waste to the one who had cut short the lives of their kin. Both men knew this from bitter experience. Link sighed, disappointed. There was opportunity for a fight here, and that was just what he wanted. It was a pity his conscience wouldn't allow him to risk Talon for the sake of a cheap brawl.

"Then we should get going. I can't look after you if they come. These things always hunt in packs."

The best part of an hour later, the two men were nearly halfway back to Castle Town. It was slow going with Talon's injuries and exhaustion, and he was in no fit state to ride the horse. He passed the time by telling Link of how the animal was a champion racehorse; the last he owned. For generations his family had been ranch owners, but in his grandfather's day, it had been converted into a grand racing corral.

"Aye, it was not the best idea my family has ever made," Talon told Link, a grim expression tugging downwards the line of his already taut mouth. The grimace of pain mixed with a look of disgust and regret as he continued. "The races brought gamblers from all across Hyrule, tossing rupees every which way. I was raking it in. Had a beautiful daughter – Malon – and a wonderful wife."

"Unusual name," Link commented. It seemed somewhat familiar to him, as if recalling a dream – or perhaps remembering what it is to be awake whilst within a dream. There were only a handful of people who sparked that particular feeling, and he hadn't come out of any encounters with them for the better. Of them, the princess was the only one still alive.

"Heh. She could never say her name properly as a babe. Always called herself Malon. It stuck after a while, although she glares something fierce if you call her that these days." Smiling slightly, Link remembered watching the young ones from Ordon struggling as they learnt to speak. He was younger in those days; almost as young as they were now. At times he felt strange, almost melancholy, watching the cubs gambolling about – his mind froze for a moment. They weren't cubs, they were children! Talon was looking at him with an odd expression; he had seen Link's face, but didn't want to cause offence by asking what was wrong.

Link quickly recovered, attempting to hide his momentary lapse.

"What was her name?"

"Eh?" Talon replied. "Oh, right. Melanie."

"Bit of a handful for an infant, I suppose," he said, furrowing his brow as a new scent hit his sensitive nose. Raising his head higher, he inhaled deeply, tasting the air. It was a vile smell, rank with rot and mildew; the scent of something that spent vast amounts of time lurking in the dark corners of the world.

"You could say that." Talon chuckled. "She had a real temper at times. Started off with her messing up her name. Her little face would screw up and go as red as her hair. Wish she was here when those monsters attacked – one look from her in a temper and they'd have gone running."

As if in answer to his words, a harsh shrieking came from in the distance. A group of the creatures – a full half-dozen– crested the top of a hill, running towards the pair. Link turned to face Talon, whose face had turned ashen, and raised an eyebrow, looking amused.

"You realize that's your fault?"

"The gods have a black sense of humour," Talon cursed in answer, his hands beginning to tremble. He was not a coward, but injured and tired as he was, he knew that he had no chance against one, let alone six of the monsters. With what he believed to be just a young man kind enough to help him to the city for an ally, he didn't believe that they would be able to survive. Hearing Link's soft laughter, his fear only increased. He didn't just have a youth as a companion, he had a madman. Or so he thought.

"A pity they only sent these pathetically weak pieces of dirt after us."

The bokoblins were almost upon them, waving heavy clubs and vicious daggers in the air, attempting to intimidate the lone pair. Link simply laughed at the display.

"Huh?" was all that Talon could say in reply.

Link was looking at him as the forerunner of the attackers reached them. Facing completely the opposite direction to the creature hefting a cudgel towards the back of his head in a dangerous blow, he lashed out quickly, and grasped it by the wrist in a firm clasp. It pulled a serrated knife from the back of a loose rope belt as Link answered Talon's confused grunt.

"No matter how bleak the jest, I always seem to –"he gave the captured wrist a sharp twist through a full circle. The creature did not move, but its hand was pulled through an entire revolution, to face the same direction as it had before. As it turned, the bones in its arm splintered with a series of loud snaps. "Break! My toys. So fragile!"

The bokoblin fell to the ground, clutching the injury, and making muffled noises of pain. It squirmed and struggled, waving the knife about as it attempted to rise again and extract vengeance. Link waited until its head was levels with his knee before placing a foot on its head and pushing downwards, hard. He crushed its skull against the hard-packed earth and stone that served as the country road they were walking along. It made a sickly squishing noise, like an overripe fruit being crushed under a heavy weight.

Slowing their charge, and becoming less sure of themselves by the minute, the other monsters were beginning to show signs of fear. Link's laughter grew, no longer a dark chuckle, but now an open laugh of joy; the joy of combat.

Not waiting for the second to reach him, he used the fallen bokoblin's head as a one-legged springboard, launching himself into their midst. His knees caught one in the stomach, knocking it to the ground. He landed on top of it, and it had the breath knocked out of it for the second time in as many seconds by the impact. With his elbow, he threw the weight of his upper body down, onto the base of the creature's nose; pushing cartilage deep into its head and killing it instantly.

Another was within range of Link's energetic violence by this time – with his other hand, he grabbed it by the ankle, stretching his arm as far as he could in order to reach, and pulled it upwards. The creature's legs flew upwards, and its torso fell. Before it had reached the peak of its flight, Link had removed his elbow from the slain bokoblin, and planted the hand firmly on the ground. Pushing his weight onto that hand, he swung his legs upwards and outwards, holding his body parallel to the ground for a fraction of a second in a remarkable display of strength. With a blindingly fast movement, he scythed his legs outwards into the airborne bokoblin, one after the other, sending it flying into the final trio with a sound akin to a whiplash.

The knife held in the grotesque fist of the creature trapped in hapless flight hit the throat of one of the three, causing it to collapse onto its knees, making a bubbling noise. Frothy pink saliva filled its mouth, and blood oozed from the wound. By its side, one of the others hissed in anger, and drove its club down onto the flung creature's body, over and over again. Lesser forces of evil such as these had no loyalty but to mayhem and their own desires, and the bokoblin it had accidently killed had been its killer's mate.

Two were left. Two foot-soldiers of darkness against the young man who had massacred four of their number in a matter of seconds without breaking a sweat. Knowing that they would die if they ran, they sidled forwards, jagged teeth bared in yellow snarls. Link answered with a feral grin of his own. All three remaining combatants knew how this tussle would end.

The mate of the dead creature was the first to attack, running at him with club in hand. Link did not even bother to intercept its blow, but chose instead to wheel his arm backwards, holding it high in the air, in a similar pose to how it was holding its club. Once it was within arm's reach, he swung the arm forwards, closing the loop. His hand tightened into a fist, and sped forwards, given more force than expected by the added momentum of gravity's pendulum. The fist hit the bokoblin on the chin, pushing it almost a foot into the air, head tilted backwards as if it was gazing at the stars. Its eyes glazed over in death before it hit the ground, crumpling into a heap.

Fear overtook the remaining monster, and it turned tail to flee. Link had other plans. Stamping hard on the club dropped by his last broken toy, he shattered it into two unequal pieces, with splintered edges. Flung into the air by the force of his foot, Link was able to catch them both, one in each hand, by only bending a little. He raised both fists to shoulder height, and threw the rudimentary stakes, catching the last of the beasts in the back of its legs. By the torrent of blood pouring outwards, he had struck an artery.

In the very short space of time that it had taken for the creatures to die, Talon had stood there with a starstruck expression on his face. He still wasn't entirely sure what had happened minute later, when Link gently placed a hand on the small of his back and pushed him in the direction of Castle Town. They walked in silence for a time; Link relishing the euphoria of battle, even if with such simple enemies, and Talon dumbfounded by what he had witnessed; completely lost for words. He didn't know quite what had happened hours later, but by the time they finally reached the city, he had resolved to introduce Link to his daughter. He could do worse in the search for a son-in-law. Much, much worse.

oOoOoOo

_Twisted shards of dark energy has convoluted the sacred essence of life, forming horrific creatures and monstrosities that haunt the bitterest reaches of the land. No matter how often they are purged, or how many times they are cleansed from our world, more will always follow. Will the war on evil never end?_

_Extract from the diary of an unnamed soldier, killed whilst defending his town against a siege by dark creatures_

_oOoOoOo_

**_A/N: Just to be needy and clingy, I'll remind you down here as well - reviews = 3 from me = faster writing._**

**_Thanks for reading!_**

**_Poorfox_**


	8. Seed of Doubt

**A/N: Once more, thanks for reading, and many, many thanks to all of my reviewers, especially those who have devoutly commented on more than one chapter. Keep on reviewing! I'll do my best to keep on writing. **

_Betrayal. It is the sharpest blade of all, and cuts deeper than any other. As the denizens of the shadows have betrayed the gods in their endless quest for power, so may ordinary men and women betray one another. It is a human sin, committed by humans. But where betrayal can be found, so too can loyalty – sometimes._

_Pathways __of Destiny - Quotations from the teachings of Ji'Namere, High Priest of Nayin_

oOoOoOo

Light shone into the room as the tavern door was flung open, sending motes of dust glittering into the air. It was far from a dingy room, but all of the windows were still shuttered; the few tavern maids working so early had only just arrived, and would not open for business for another hour. Talon staggered through the door, leaning heavily on Link, who seemed to be all that was holding him upright.

As the door swung too far, and hit the stone wall, a resounding noise drew the attention of the three young women inside. Ella was one of them. She gaped at the sight of Talon's bloodstained clothing, and rushed over to him, ignoring Link.

"Father!" she exclaimed, worry and surprise flitting across her face. She had been afraid for a long time that he would turn up like this, and was doubly surprised that he was here at all – he lived a considerable distance away, and she had only moved into the city in search of work a few months ago. She wasn't expecting a visit so soon, especially not one like this.

"S'okay lass, no need to fret." Talon attempted to reassure her, but she was intent on fretting. It was perfectly justifiable, considering the state Talon was in, or so Link thought, but the dismissive distaste in his voice told Link that he disagreed. He shrugged off Link's support, and stood on his own two feet solidly, if swaying a little. Ella didn't notice his unfocused eyes or ensteady grip on the ground; she was too preoccupied with the crimson liquid that soaked through his clothes and matted his hair.

Her mouth was open as wide as her eyes, and she covered it with a hand in shock, seeing the extent of the bloodstains. Standing there, looking at her father, all she could do was wonder how he could still walk with such extensive wounds.

"You're covered in blood!" Ella's voice had risen to a higher pitch, from a mixture of worry and shock – and perhaps even a little anger at her father for getting into that state – not to mention whoever had done that to him.

"Ain't mine," Talon said. A quirk of his lips showed that he was enjoying having the pleasure of saying that; coming out of a struggle as the victor was a rare event for him, and one that he relished. His stature and lack of athleticism did not do him any favours in a fight, so he had been very lucky indeed to face down the bokoblins before Link had arrived.

"What happened?" Ella asked, consternation replacing the louder volume in her voice. Now that her surprise had faded, she was beginning to realize the real ramification of what may have happened. She saw that he had only a few major bruises and cuts, but knew that if he had injured some others in fighting them off, there would be consequences – and they would not be pleasant.

"Bokoblins." Talon paused for a moment, giving time for Ella to let that sink in. The worry on her face quickly faded. Her father may be injured, but it wasn't as bad as she had thought. Nothing bad would happen to her because of this. "Lots of 'em. This lad here came by and helped me out, fought off an entire pack by his self."

Ella looked at Link, acknowledging him for the first time. He had remained silent throughout their heated conversation, without showing any hint of impatience. She thought that she recognized him; perhaps a patron of the tavern, and stared at him for a few seconds before his familiar features came to mind. She had seen those piercing blue eyes only the night before.

"Ezra's friend, aren't you?"

Ezra was a nice enough friend, and she saw a lot of him, although she was beginning to become worried that he wanted a little more than friendship. Some of the comments she had heard from Kestrin's teasing had held a little more than the joking nature that she had thought the first few times she had heard them – and Ezra's face had flushed with embarrassment that was a little more than simple humiliation at being teased. It was a problem for another time, so she ignored it for now, and listened instead to her problem for today; Link.

This was an awkward question for him to answer, and he wasn't quite sure what to say. He didn't feel as if he had any friends – nobody even knew who he really was - and didn't like to name someone as friend when he had known them for so short a time.

"I work with him," he eventually answered, still unsure about what he was saying. Too many people had been harmed in the past simply for being associated with him. He had no idea that Ella was wary about speaking to him for the exact same reason. He wouldn't have believed that a tavern maid and her father could have dangerous enemies, just as he had done in the past.

"Thank you – for getting my foolish father all the way here." She took a few steps across the room, to the other young women, who were watching the scene with interest. One of them in particular was eyeing Link, a gleam in her eye and a hand winding back luxurious dark hair in the same way that gained her an income so much more than the other tavern maids. Ella chose her to speak to, murmuring a few words in her ear, inaudible to even Link's ears. The dark haired young woman curled her full lips in a grin, studying Link with equally dark eyes. Pleased by what she saw, she nodded in assent to Ella. "Anju will get you something to eat, it's almost mid-day, and you must be hungry. Please, I'll be back soon."

Taking Talon by the arm, she ushered him towards a corner of the room, and seated him at a table. She folded her arms sternly, and looked down at him, irritated that he could risk involving Link in their troubles. Speaking urgently in a low tone, her first few words were lost to Link.

Anju swooped down the room to him, and pounced, dragging him to a table of his own. She planted a hand on his chest to push him down onto a seat. Coming into contact with a wall of hard muscle, her effort was spent to no avail; he didn't move so much as an inch. Her lips parted in pleased surprise, and the gleam in her eyes grew. Link eyed her warily, and sat of his own accord, knowing what the hand had been intended for.

"Stay," she said, her eyes still roaming over Link, "I'll be back before you get a chance to miss me."

The obvious attempt at flirting was something Link had rarely run into; while he had often met impressionable young women – and some not so young – who admired his heroic nature, and the body that allowed him to perform such tasks, they were usually a touch distracted by looming evil when he first met them. By the time they noticed him as a man, rather than a saviour, he was riding away into the horizon, leaving the fallen carcass of darkness' minions behind him.

With Anju gone, and in his new seat closer to the father and daughter duo talking quietly, he was able to overhear their conversation.

"What were you doing out there?" Ella asked. She was not displeased to see her father, but to gain a visit so unexpectedly did not bode well. He should have been far too busy working to even consider taking the time for a journey across Hyrule.

"Coming to you. I was hoping...." His voice trailed off; he was unwilling to ask for help, but he was not too proud to admit that he needed it. Virtually unknown in Castle Town, and without anywhere to stay, he would be in some serious trouble if his daughter wasn't able to intercede.

"It's that bad?"

Talon nodded. The grim set of his mouth, and the way his hands had been clenched tightly were more than enough evidence for Ella. She didn't notice the crows-feet and worry-lines that surrounding his eyes; they had been there for a long time, and she was used to them.

"Lost everything but what I could take with me – and even that got looted by those vile creatures. If not for Link, they'd have had the clothes off my back and all."

He sighed, remembering the destroyed cart that had held everything he owned. A meagre assortment of possessions compared to the riches he had once had, but after his fortunes had turned to bad luck, there was little left to salvage. When he set out, it was with a heavy debt hanging over his head; a debt that could not be repaid. He still had a small amount of money – enough to rent a room for a few weeks, perhaps – and his horse. The horse would bring him a good sum, but he was reluctant to part with it.

"Does he know?"

Ella was intrigued by Link – there was something about him that drew her eyes, and captivated her interest. She hadn't paid much attention to that when she had met him before; Ezra's clumsy company had kept her mind off the enigma that was Link, and Kestrin had soon dragged him away. By the favourable way Talon was speaking of him, she could easily interpret what his plan the two of them were, and although she did not yet know Link, she didn't think that her father's matchmaking was such a bad idea – this time.

"I didn't tell him," Talon continued. He had touched upon his family woes as the two had made their way to the city, but had kept the darker details from Link. Perhaps he would tell him, sometime soon, and ask for his help. If the events of the morning were any hint of what Link was like, he would surely give it, and Talon desperately wanted – needed – his aid. "Wouldn't want to scare him away after he went out of his way to help me."

"If anyone saw you together - !" Ella broke off mid-sentence, shaking her head in disgust. She couldn't believe that Talon would so callously give their enemies the chance to blame someone else – someone innocent –for their family's mistakes, and take undeserved vengeance from him. She resolved to keep Link close, so that if anything did happen, she would be able to step in. He had protected her father, and now she would protect him – or so she thought. "You could be putting him in danger, too. Fine repayment that is for his generosity."

It wouldn't be the first time that someone had been caught in the cross-fire, and hurt because of her father's selfish mistakes. He had changed after her mother's death, and was no longer so self-centred, and careless, but by that time it was too late, and all of his attempts to fix things had grown worse.

Talon leaned forwards, speaking eagerly. Seeing Link fight had woken a hope from deep inside that he had thought lost. They didn't have to just lie down and die; they could fight back, even if their fight consisted of little more than hiding away.

"Link can take care of himself. You should have seen the way he fought, Mal. He could be a good friend to keep close." He had fought like a demon, or a wild animal. The pure savage joy in his eyes had come close to frightening Talon, and for a moment he thought that the young man had been possessed. It was only his gentle manner and calm mask that had kept Talon from running from Link as he would one of the monsters themselves. Even so, something about him seemed different after that fight – content, somehow; sated, as if after a large meal. Link had looked happier than he had all day, and the faint shadow of stress on his face had been replaced by bright blue eyes; the confused steps replaced by confident strides across the land that his demeanour labelled as his own.

"I don't want another bodyguard, father. I won't need one either if you don't insist on calling me Malon," Ella said. She hadn't told any of her companions in Castle Town of her childhood nickname, and Ezra knew better than to repeat it. He had journeyed with her to the city, and was the sole link left to her childhood – until her father turned up. "Ella is much safer. Use that name instead."

Out of a desire to hide from her father's debtors – who were violently aggressive in their demands for recompense, she had gone to the extent of dying her hair. Pale, and almost white, it had drawn quite a bit of attention, especially from the young men frequenting Auru's tavern, but was in no way confusable with her characteristic red locks. Leaving home had been hard, but the change which left her feeling the most sentimental and homesick was her hair – vibrant red hair was rare in Hyrule, and it was as much a part of her as anything else.

"Hopefully they didn't see me come here. I crossed half of Hyrule to reach you, and when I finally got within sight of Castle Town, I get mobbed. Not by who you'd expect, oh no, just a ragtag bunch of monsters with itchy fingers! Of all the cursed luck, eh?"

Talon's ranting faded away, overwhelmed by the sound of footsteps coming towards Link. He couldn't hear their conversation with Anju so close by – not without being very obvious – and he didn't want to break their trust so soon after meeting them. It would have felt like a betrayal, to Link, and he had been betrayed too many times to be willing to do that to someone else.

A plate was placed onto the table in front of Link, piled high with a variety of meat and vegetables, all still steaming from being freshly cooked. There was far more here than he could possibly eat, even with a wolf's appetite. He looked at Anju, as if to ask why, and got only a flirtatious wink for his trouble. She pursed her lips and watched him, pretending to pout until he at last began to eat. She had made the meal herself, as quickly as she dared, going all out with the finest ingredients available in the tavern's inventory. There wasn't a lot of variety, but what was there was good enough for her purpose; after all, Auru had once told her that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach, in one of his endless little euphemisms.

Auru was thought of as fairly intelligent, as far as those things were regarded by the people he employed, but there was a certain type of intelligence that Auru knew nothing about. This kind of intricate knowledge was something that Anju was familiar with. Her so-called womanly wiles led to amorous encounters as often as she liked – which was more often than Ella could have imagined until being forced to share a room with her. As a perk of their employment, the two tavern maids were given a small backroom; a room that Ella often had to leave so that Anju could enjoy a little male company.

"Bokoblins," she said, glancing over at Talon briefly, before returning her gaze to Link. "What happened?"

She didn't care all that much about Talon, and didn't even know who he was. Never having met him before, he was little more than scenery to her, hidden in the background. Link was in the foreground of her vision, and as he spoke, he filled a second of her senses with a quiet but mellifluous voice. The scent of pine resin from the wooden walls and panelling prevented her from enjoying Link's faint scent, and she was looking forwards to enjoying his presence with at least one of her other senses – perhaps both.

Link swallowed a mouthful of food before answering, placing the unwanted utensils of cutlery on the plate, and pushing it away from himself.

"I found Talon. He was in a bad way. When we were getting back here a couple more attacked us."

"And you fought them off?" Anju perched on the edge of the table, brushing her skirts across her legs. Most men's eyes would follow the movement of her hands – it was one of many ways that she drew attention to the shapely curve of her legs. Link didn't notice, and she felt an inward twinge of irritation. Men were putty in her hands when they realized that she was attractive.

"There weren't many."

"Two is still more than I could have fought off," she said, hoping that Link could take praise for himself, even if he would not give her any by admiring her.

"Six." His noncommittal, offhand tone surprised her. She quickly regained her composure, but was taken completely aback by the casual way he could dismiss fighting half a dozen monsters that could, alone, overpower most ordinary men.

"Impressive – " Anju paused, and leaned forwards, whispering with her mouth close to Link's cheek. He could feel her warm breath on his skin as her lips parted to form words. "You're a real hero. I'd like to see you in –" pausing again, in an attempt to convey the same exuberant drama, her voice changed subtly, adding a clear undertone which left no room for misinterpretation – "_action_ some time." Link realized then what she was attempting to do; to flirt with him. He wasn't comfortable with this, and searched his mind desperately for a way to discourage Anju without causing offence. He didn't want to upset her, and wouldn't do so unless there was no other choice. Becoming involved with her just wasn't an option – they were too different. He had resigned himself to the life of a bachelor. The only time he had met someone that seemed even remotely like him had been a disaster. As soon as his hope that something – anything – could happen, she had dismissed him, his usefulness outlived, and returned to her life, leaving him alone once again.

Salvation came in the form of Ezra. The tavern door was flung open yet again, this time more violently than before. Ezra winced as the oak panels crashed into the harder stone of the wall, shaking an unlit lantern loose from a metal bracket set in the wall, and causing Anju to jump in surprise off her perch on the table. Ella stood, shaking her head with a wry amusement, and walked over to pick it up. Scrabbling about on the floor, Ezra picked up the fallen lantern, and replaced it. By the time he looked up, Ella was standing by Link.

Mistaking the slight smile on Ella's face from his clumsiness for one from enjoying Link's company, Ezra felt his heart clench. His relationship with Ella – or Malon, as he always thought of her – had never evolved beyond that of old friends, but he wanted it to be more significant to such an extent that he was beginning to convince himself that there was something between the two of them. Seeing her with Link – or so he thought – sparked a remnant of his territorial nature. He was quick to anger, but tried to quell the negative feelings towards Link; someone he looked up to as an idol. He had taken on the role of an unwitting idol, of sorts, in Ezra's life

"Link? What are you doing here?" He could not quite suppress the note of suspicion in his voice

"Talon. I brought him here," Link said, standing to greet Ezra. He walked over to the younger forge-hand, and brushed some dust from the lantern off his shirtsleeves.

"Who?"

"Ma – Ella's father." The slip of tongue was unusual, for Link. While he was byt no means a great conversationalist, he was almost always able to express himself properly, without any hint of stumbling over words or the stuttering that others sometimes found themselves afflicted with. For some reason it seemed very natural to call Ella by her true name – Malon.

"You should be at work." Ezra was not pleased to find Link at the tavern, for a number of reasons. He had been looking forwards to visiting Ella, and speaking to her for a little while alone. Kestrin approved of Ezra's infatuation with Ella, in a teasing manner, but would not tolerate an absence from work twice in one day to visit her. With Link here, and not at the forge where he was supposed to be, Kestrin was bound to notice the sound of no work being done; silence.

"I'm on my break?"

Link wasn't even sure if he was allowed a break, but if he was, he was pretty sure that he would be on it right now - Or had been at some point along the handful of hours he'd been absent for, wandering the countryside just outside Castle Town, and helping Talon to the tavern.s

"For three hours?" Ezra asked. His quick to flare anger was already fading, and a hint of a smile ghosted his lips at the pathetically flimsy excuse until an unpleasant thought occurred to him; _"three hours...with my girl?"_

"I guess I lost track of time," Link said, shrugging his shoulders. He didn't want to get into an argument with Ezra, who was rapidly becoming agitated, but he wasn't about to tell his young co-worker that he'd decimated a small troop of inhumane creatures without breaking a sweat unless he absolutely must. Living an ordinary life, working in a forge, was hard enough as it was, without adding to the strain with a whisper of what he could be doing. It was almost unbearable already, and it was only his second day working there.

Anju sauntered over to the pair, swaying her hips as she walked. To her disgust, only Ezra noticed. Ella snickered quietly behind her, and Ezra's eyes quickly shot back up, guiltily caught looking somewhere he shouldn't.

"Time just seems to rush by when you're having a good time, doesn't it Link," she said. It wasn't a question; just an excuse for her to practise what she believed was a sultry voice.

"Especially when you're with a pretty girl," Ezra interjected, looking at Ella. The real recipient of his compliment ignored it, and Anju mistakenly believed it to be praise for herself. She let out a small girlish laugh, and Link smiled. He knew that he couldn't become involved with Anju, but there was no reason that Ezra couldn't. He made up his mind to help matters along a little where he could, to thank Ezra for the offer of friendship. Seeing the way he struggled to contain his roving eyes, Link remembered just how young Ezra was. He had never been that young himself – at that age he had been forced to mature very quickly, after being tossed out into an unfriendly world by a divine ploy.

"I suppose –" he started, before being interrupted by Anju. As much as she enjoyed hearing his voice, she loved the sound of her own even more.

"Oh, Link hasn't been with _me_ all this time."

Ezra mistook the emphasis in her words. She had meant to tell Link how much she regretted his not being there for longer. Link picked up on that. Ezra thought she was suggesting Link had spent most of his time as an absentee with Ella. His expression soured.

If Link was becoming involved with Ella, he knew that he would have to put a stop to it before things escalated into a relationship, or his slim chance at winning her heart would be gone forever. He didn't know that something was happening for sure, however, and despite his rash and impetuous nature, he decided to find out a little more about Link's intentions before acting against them. Unbeknownst to him, Link had no intentions towards Ella whatsoever, save a mild desire to help her and her father if he could. It sounded like they could use a helping hand some time soon.

"We should get going," he said, flatly, and devoid of any sign of his rising suspicions. "One of us could have disappeared for a while, but Kestrin will have noticed that he's alone."

Kestrin was a kind-hearted employer, although he did have a sharp tongue honed by his years of military service. Any punishment would not go beyond gentle – if loud – scolding, but if he was unable to meet the demands of his customers, they would be his customers no more. Without a source of income, the forge would have to close, and Ezra didn't want to do that to someone who had taken him under his wing as Kestrin had.

When first arriving in the city, Ella had found work with Auru without too much difficulty, as they shared blood. Ezra had struggled to find anything at all, until Kestrin had come along. He was out of money, and had no food. Ella would have gladly shared her meagre fortune with her childhood friend, but he was too proud to ask for help. Kestrin had pulled Ezra out of a tight spot in employing him, and had taught him a great deal about life in the city – and as a boy growing into the cusp of manhood – in the time that they had known one another.

Link chuckled, and agreed with Ezra.

"I wouldn't want to get my new career off to a bad start." As far removed from Link's ideal life as it was, there was no sense in throwing away the opportunity to gain a handful of rupees each day. Sleeping in a bed, and eating food he hadn't caught and killed himself, was a pleasant change, and not one he was willing to give up for the sake of avoiding the onerous chore of actually turning up when supposed to be working.

Link pulled the door open once more; it had swung shut after bouncing off the wall, and held it open for Ezra. They left without a backwards glance at Anju – much to her ire – and the door swung shut behind them with a noise not unlike the one it had made hitting the wall as Ezra had entered.

The sun could be seen reflecting off glass panes in shop windows, and the sharp edges of cobbles not yet worn smooth by the endless passing of countless feet. The two men walked beneath it, talking. Link's quiet voice stayed calm, and constant. Ezra's rose in volume and agitation as they spoke.

"How did you know she's called Malon?" he asked, almost as soon as they had left the tavern. Link frowned. If he knew about Ella's desire to hide, surely he could be more considerate of her need for privacy. Declaring her secrets – if so little as a name – in the middle of a street was hardly the kind of thing that a good friend did.

"I didn't call her that," Link replied. Glancing at Ezra, he was reminded again of how young he was; not just in years, but in maturity. He simply didn't realize what he was saying more often than not, and was as clumsy with his tongue as he was with the rest of his body.

"You were about to, but you changed it to Ella at the last moment. I can't believe she told you that she's hiding under a different name."

Link sighed. Ezra wouldn't let this go. He decided to answer him as best he could without revealing secrets that were not his to share – he did not know the extent of Ezra' knowledge – and was loath to part with the fact that he had been eavesdropping unless absolutely necessary.

"She didn't tell me, Ezra."

A demand was forthcoming. Link could see it in the tight set of Ezra's jaw. As he began to speak, a thought struck Link. Maybe Ezra was simply looking out for Ella, by trying to find out what this newcomer in her life wanted. He had to admit, it did look fairly suspicious. Ezra was indeed suspicious, but not in the way Link thought. Link assumed that he suspected Link of affiliation with the people who were a threat to Talon and his daughter. The truth was that Ezra nurtured a fear of Link stealing the girl who wore his heart on her sleeve. He truly thought that Ella was his. She didn't agree.

"Then how did you know?"

"Okay, Ezra," he answered the younger man, attempting to placate him now that he thought he knew what was the problem. "I won't say a thing. If she wants her name kept hidden, perhaps you had better keep your voice down, too?"

Unfortunately for Link, Ezra took his words as badly as could have been foreseen, raising his voice almost to the point of a shout, and attracting attention from passers-by that caused Link to tense up, well aware of the fact that someone, somewhere, may hear the name of Malon and take that information straight to the ones who she was hiding from.

Even Link's impressive senses could not detect the man who froze at hearing that, mid-way through picking up a dropped parcel wrapped in sturdy paper. He could almost always tell when he was being followed, without many exceptions save for the more powerful demonic entities that occasionally saw fit to attack him. A mere man did not have the power to obscure his intentions as a hunter – whether of animals or humans. Had he been hunting Link, he would have been discovered, and the consequences of Ezra's loud mouth evaded. The ones who put gold in his hands and pockets, however, did not want Link. He had a different prey, and he now knew its name. Time was running short.

"So you admit Malon told you!" Ezra had exclaimed, drawing so much attention; some curious, some exasperated by the nuisance, and one with a vested interest in his words.

Link spoke softly, almost inaudibly against the hubbub of the city folk going about their business.

"I didn't say that." It was his gentle, almost disappointed tone that finally convinced Ezra that he was being a fool. His only response was to give a noncommittal grunt, deciding to ignore Link and Ella's possible bonding for now.

"Huh."

"I've only just met her, so she wouldn't share any secrets with me," said Link, attempting to reassure Ezra, and prevent the seed of doubt from growing. Ezra gave in, and grudgingly accepted that Link could very well be right.

"I guess so."

They walked the rest of the way to the forge in a silence that was only broken by Kestrin's shouts coming from within as they drew closer. Ezra tripping over a stack of boxes in the courtyard outside alerted him to their presence.

"Where have you been?"

Looking at one another, a flicker of comradeship passed between the two. Despite their near-argument, they knew better than to break the tradition of banding together against their boss. It had been done since time immemorial, and breaking that ancestral habit was unthinkable.

"Ezra wanted to see Ella," said Link, hoping that it would be a good enough answer, judging from Kestrin's good-natured attitude towards pursuing Ella. Kestrin was more than willing to accept that as a reason, and more than happy for Ezra to disappear every now and then, but he wasn't willing to let his entire workforce spent a good portion of the working day strolling about the city. Half-heartedly, he attempted to continue berating his workers.

"And you just happened to wander out of here and not turn up again? You can't just up and leave in the middle of the day without -" Kestrin broke off with an exaggerated sigh, letting them know he wasn't going to bring unpleasant consequences raining down on them because of this. He wasn't aware that Ezra had worked out that pattern after the tenth time or so that it had been used against him. Link, of course, had noticed that by Kestrin's feelings of amused exasperation. He was good at understanding people, at times. At other times, they were completely alien to him. "No matter," he continued. "Just don't let it happen again, or I can't keep you here."

The rest of the day passed without any events of note, and Link learned a little more about a blacksmith's craft. He learned at a surprising rate, and surpassed both Kestrin and Ezra in terms of the physical skill involved. A complete and utter lack of knowledge meant that he was still by far the worst smith of the three. There was a lot more to becoming an artisan than bending metal into shape, he discovered. As time went on, Ezra forgot about his disagreement with Link, and returned to his normal jovial self before too long. His anger was nowhere near as quick to cool as it was to rise, but his moods still changed very fast, no matter which direction they were headed in.

oOoOoOo

Several days had gone by, and Link's ability as a smith had grown rapidly. Pretty soon, Kestrin told him, he'd be able to start working on the sword made for Captain Sanders without risking damage to it through ineptitude. As a connoisseur of blades, so to speak, Link could indeed appreciate the deadly beauty of cold steel, and was not willing to take chances with the fruit of Kestrin's labours. Ezra had recently finished creating an elegant hilt for the blade, complete with a length of tasselled black leather wrap, allowing it to be gripped easily. All that Link really had to do was carefully stick the two pieces together, and whittle away at the fine detail until it was perfectly weighted. Swords were nicked from the first blow in combat, upsetting the perfect alignment, but it was a mark of pride among blacksmiths to deliver their wares in the finest possible condition.

Along with Link, Kestrin was tucked away in a back room of the forge, sorting through scrap bits of metal in a search for something cheap and serviceable to destroy, in order to salvage a lump of brass – a metal which seemed to have been forgotten, or overlooked, in the last delivery of raw materials for their trade. The bulk of the forge was deserted, save for Ezra, who was arranging the many abandoned bars about the forge into slightly more organized piles. Glancing up from this chore, he saw a figure silhouetted in the doorway, coming closer.

The sunlight shone off her pale-dyed hair, seeming to illuminate her face with the light of an angelic halo. Watching her cross the cobbled yard outside, he was reminded of why he held her in such affectionate regard.

Ezra dropped an armful of metal ingots he was carrying onto a bench, and walked over to the doorway. Running fingers self-consciously through his close-cropped hair, he leant against the doorjamb, and waited for her to come closer.

"Is Link somewhere about?" she asked. The pleasure he felt at her coming to see him vanished. She wasn't interested in him, after all. It was Link she wanted. A twinge of the suspicion growing in the back of his mind began to believe that Ella held a fledgling interest for Link.

Before Ezra had a chance to answer, Link emerged from the back room, and raised a hand in greeting to Ella. He had heard her.

"Can I help you?"

Ella took Link by the arm, and tugged him in the direction of the door. He was a fair amount taller than her, so her hand was very low down on his arm. From where Ezra was standing, it seemed almost as if she was holding his hand.

"My father told me what happened – all of it. I want a chance to show my gratitude," she said. Taking him out of the forge, she left in her wake an expression that was far from pleasant on Ezra's face. With a sour set to his mouth, and fists clenched a little tighter than they had been a moment before, it was a struggle for him not to believe the worst. He had lost friends in the past by jumping to conclusions, and did not want to do so again.

Hours later, Link returned with a smile tugging at his lips. Ella and Talon had spent a long afternoon and evening with him, sharing their company. Talon was something of a stranger to him, but Ella seemed uncannily familiar, like an old friend he was meeting once again after a long time had passed. He was comfortable around her, unlike the way he felt around almost everyone else. Returning to the forge, his only thought was that it would be nice to have a friend – a real friend.

Ezra's worries had overcome him during Link's absence. He had confided his fears to Kestrin, and the elder man had offered him the sound advice of offering Link the benefit of the doubt, until something a little more concrete happened. Kestrin was not pleased to hear of Link leaving during the day for reasons that had nothing to do with Ella – he couldn't tolerate absent workers on his payroll, and as much as he liked Link, he knew that he would have to send him away in search of new work if he did not improve upon his wandering habits soon.

oOoOoOo

_A warrior is vengeance incarnate. Should those that a true warrior protects be hurt, he will seek appeasement. With bloodied blade and blackened heart, he tears out the hearts of those who have harmed his kith and kin, as a warning to all those who would seek to do so in future. A warrior must fight not only the current battle, but all those in the future, too. By filling adversaries too full of fear to fight, he wins battles that have not – and will not – be fought._

_Bladeworthy – A series of essays by the warrior-priests of Diore_

_**A/N:**__**Mr. Plot is just about kicking off, so prepare for some of the good ol' action that you desire so much in the following chapters. Your vigilance in sticking through this far will soon be rewarded.**_

_**Poorfox**_


End file.
